“Then, alas, came delay, and glad indeed was I, that I had not been tempted to linger in Rome; for the winds were contrary; some days passed before we could set sail; and when at last I prevailed upon the mariners to venture, a great storm caught us in mid-channel, threatening to rend the sails to ribbons and, lifting us high, hurl us all to perdition.  Helpless and desperate, for the sailors had lost all control, I vowed that if the storm might abate and we come safe to harbour I would—­when I succeed to my father’s lands in Gloucestershire—­give to the worthy Abbot of an Abbey adjoining our estate, a meadow, concerning which he and his monks have long broken the tenth commandment and other commands as well, a trout stream running through it, and the dearest delight of the Abbot being fat trout for supper; and of the monks, to lie on their bellies tickling the trout as they hide in the cool holes under the banks of the stream.  But when my father finds the monks thus poaching, he comes up behind them, and up they get quickly—­or try to!  So, in mid-channel, remembering my sins, I remembered running to tell my father that if he came quickly he would find the good Brothers flat on their bellies, sleeves rolled back, heads hanging over the water, toes well tucked into the turf, deeply intent upon tickling.  Then I would run by a short cut, hide in the hazels, and watch while my father stalked up through the meadow, caught and belaboured the poachers.  My derisive young laughter seemed now to howl and shriek through the rigging.  So I vowed that if the storm abated and we came safe to port, the monks should be given that meadow.  Upon which the storm did abate, and to port we came—­and what my father will say, I know not!  Fearing vexation to you, my lord, from this untoward delay, on landing I rode as fast as mine own good horse could carry me.  Am I in time?”

The Bishop smiled as he looked into the blue eyes and open countenance of young Roger de Berchelai, a youth wholly devoted to his service.  Here was another who remembered in pictures, and Symon of Worcester loved the gallop, and rush, and breeze of the sea, which had swept through the chamber, in the eager young voice of his envoy.

“Yes, my son,” said the Bishop.  “You have returned, not merely in time, but with two days to spare.  Was there ever fleeter messenger!  Indeed my choice was well made and my trust well placed.  Now you must sup and then take a much-needed rest, dear lad; and to-morrow tell me if you had need to spend more than I gave you.”

Raising his voice, the Bishop called his Chaplain; whereupon that sinister figure at once appeared in the doorway.

The Bishop gave orders concerning the entertaining of the young Esquire of Berchelai; then added; “And let the chapel be lighted, Father Benedict.  So soon as the aurora appears in the east, I shall celebrate mass, in thanksgiving for the blessing of a letter from the Holy Father, and for the safe return of my messenger.  I shall not need your presence nor that of any of the brethren, save those whose watch it chances to be. . . . Benedicite.”