and from time to time-not very often it is true, since the voyage was a long one-he had news of Buckfast and Woodleigh, and sometimes even of Moreleigh, by monks or pilgrims journeying through Paris.

The news, scarce as it was, was good and always welcome; and when Abbot Benet had passed through on his way to Citeaux again in the following year, he had listened to a long and detailed account of all that was happening at home. Helion was dead and had left much property to the Abbey. Roger and Budd were well and happy; but they both missed him sorelyor said they did. Isobel was more tyrannical than ever; and Sir Guy was, as usual, working hard at Woodleigh and helping the Moreleigh priest, who had become a chronic invalid, incessantly.

"Your brother will kill himself with work," said the Abbot with evident approval. "He is a most zealous priest and a true Christian."

"And how is Vipont?" asked Arnoul tentatively. “Guy must have a great deal to do with him now, if Sir John is so unwell!"

Abbot Benet frowned. "Vipont is as well as usual and as quarrelsome as ever. He is making trouble over his fief at Holne now. His land joins ours. But what interest have you in Sir Sigar?" The Abbot looked his question as well as spoke it.

"None"; replied the boy, blushing in spite of himself. "That is to say, practically none. But I thought Guy—”

"And how are you doing yourself?" asked the monk, interrupting him. "I shall have to give Sir Guy an account of you when I return. I can see that you are well. But your

studies-? Your work?"

The interview veered to the lad's doings in Paris; the Abbot listening without any comment to all that he had to tell him.

But on the whole Arnoul was drifting. The Abbot carried back a glowing account of him to Buckfast and Woodleigh. The canons at St. Victor's had endorsed his statements as to work and studies. He himself would have been surprised had he been able to realize how far he had changed. But it was true, nevertheless. Maitre Louis had not proved the best of mentors and Arnoul looked up to him and admired him so that

Giles had tried to speak to him once; but he had been silenced by Arnoul's prompt anger. Nor could he even countenance any of his own misgivings that made themselves felt as Louis. showed more and more of that extraordinary and complex character that lay hidden under his affectation of dialectic and indifference.

On one occasion they had gone to a tavern together. It was at the time of the evening walk, when public lectures were over. When they reached the great street of St. Jacques, Maitre Louis spoke confidentially. "A little wine for the stomach's sake! It is the counsel of St. Paul. After decretals it helps the digestion. And I know a famous wine seller close at hand where we can have the choicest."

His companion did not demur; and, turning a corner, they entered the cabaret.

It was very dark and somewhat thick with the stale fumes. of wine; but it was certainly a cut above the filthy tavern in the Rue St. Jacques. Louis was evidently a well-known patron of the host, and at once began to speak with him and with the other frequenters of the place.

"Your best!" he commanded. "Your best, Messire Julien ! Bring it out! I have brought you a new companion, a brave fellow and an Englishman, who desires the freedom of your hospitality. What! Jacques le Boiteux!-at this time of day! Why, even I would not be here now, if it were not in the execution of a plain duty!"

"Duty," laughed Maitre Jacques le Boiteux thickly. ""Tis a duty that is welcome none the less, my excellent doctor. Aales, my girl, look at Maitre Louis! He comes hither at the call of duty!" And Maitre Jacques joined with Aales in a laugh at the bare idea.

"Duty," he continued, grinning all over his pimply face. "Duty! Of course it is a duty! 'Tis a duty that brings me here too! 'Tis a duty that brings Aales! We have all come because of duty!" He embraced the eight or ten scholars, serving men, and women in a grandiose sweep of his hand.

"I shall prove to you, my good Maitre Louis, by the Organon of Aristotle and Porphyry his Isagoge that it is a duty! You will admit that the Manicheans are the most damnable heretics, to begin with?"

and from time to time-not very often it is true, since the voyage was a long one-he had news of Buckfast and Woodleigh, and sometimes even of Moreleigh, by monks or pilgrims journeying through Paris.

The news, scarce as it was, was good and always welcome; and when Abbot Benet had passed through on his way to Citeaux again in the following year, he had listened to a long and detailed account of all that was happening at home. Helion was dead and had left much property to the Abbey. Roger and Budd were well and happy; but they both missed him sorelyor said they did. Isobel was more tyrannical than ever; and Sir Guy was, as usual, working hard at Woodleigh and helping the Moreleigh priest, who had become a chronic invalid, incessantly.

"Your brother will kill himself with work," said the Abbot with evident approval. "He is a most zealous priest and a true Christian."

"And how is Vipont?" asked Arnoul tentatively. "Guy must have a great deal to do with him now, if Sir John is so unwell!"

Abbot Benet frowned. Vipont is as well as usual and as quarrelsome as ever. He is making trouble over his fief at Holne now. His land joins ours. But what interest have you in Sir Sigar ?" The Abbot looked his question as well as spoke it.

"None"; replied the boy, blushing in spite of himself. "That is to say, practically none. But I thought Guy-"

"And how are you doing yourself?" asked the monk, interrupting him. "I shall have to give Sir Guy an account of you when I return. I can see that you are well. But your

studies-? Your work?"

The interview veered to the lad's doings in Paris; the Abbot listening without any comment to all that he had to tell him.

But on the whole Arnoul was drifting. The Abbot carried back a glowing account of him to Buckfast and Woodleigh. The canons at St. Victor's had endorsed his statements as to work and studies. He himself would have been surprised had he been able to realize how far he had changed. But it was true, nevertheless. Maitre Louis had not proved the best of mentors and Arnoul looked up to him and admired him so that

Giles had tried to speak to him once; but he had been silenced by Arnoul's prompt anger. Nor could he even countenance any of his own misgivings that made themselves felt as Louis showed more and more of that extraordinary and complex character that lay hidden under his affectation of dialectic and indifference.

On one occasion they had gone to a tavern together. It was at the time of the evening walk, when public lectures were over. When they reached the great street of St. Jacques, Maitre Louis spoke confidentially. "A little wine for the stomach's sake! It is the counsel of St. Paul. After decretals it helps the digestion. And I know a famous wine seller close at hand where we can have the choicest."

His companion did not demur; and, turning a corner, they entered the cabaret.

It was very dark and somewhat thick with the stale fumes of wine; but it was certainly a cut above the filthy tavern in the Rue St. Jacques. Louis was evidently a well-known patron of the host, and at once began to speak with him and with the other frequenters of the place.

"Your best!" he commanded. "Your best, Messire Julien ! Bring it out! I have brought you a new companion, a brave fellow and an Englishman, who desires the freedom of your hospitality. What! Jacques le Boiteux!-at this time of day! Why, even I would not be here now, if it were not in the execution of a plain duty!"

"Duty," laughed Maitre Jacques le Boiteux thickly. ""Tis a duty that is welcome none the less, my excellent doctor. Aales, my girl, look at Maitre Louis! He comes hither at the call of duty!" And Maitre Jacques joined with Aales in a laugh at the bare idea.

"Duty," he continued, grinning all over his pimply face. "Duty! Of course it is a duty! 'Tis a duty that brings me here too! 'Tis a duty that brings Aales! We have all come because of duty!" He embraced the eight or ten scholars, serving men, and women in a grandiose sweep of his hand.

"I shall prove to you, my good Maitre Louis, by the Organon of Aristotle and Porphyry his Isagoge that it is a duty! You will admit that the Manicheans are the most damnable heretics, to begin with?"

many arguments as you please, and just as many points as you please. But I am here to drink mine host's good wine and not to chop logic with a lawyer. Logic for the schools, say I; not for the wine house!"

"Ha! Jeannette, my beauty, here is a new suitor for your fair hand! Come hither, girl, and make the acquaintance of Maitre Arnoul the Englishman! If you are off with me, there is no reason why you should not love my friends. Now, don't you be jealous, my Thomassine; don't sulk over there in a corner! Here am I getting Blanches Mains out of the way, that I may talk to you by yourself!" And he laughed brutally.

Arnoul shrank from the rough tone of familiarity and the laugh. This was a side of the Gascon's character that he certainly had not seen before, for Louis had dropped for the moment his habitual mask of gravity and learning and uncovered what lay beneath it. He was learning much of Paris and the scholars under the Gascon's tutelage. He did not like the laugh and he did not like the words; but, ashamed of himself for his dislike of both, he turned to the really beautiful girl who made her way over towards him.

"So you are Arnoul the Englishman," she said, her lips parting in a smile over two rows of pearly teeth. "I have heard that pig Louis speak of you so often. And he has not lied," she continued, frankly scrutinizing his face and form. "He said you were an Apollo, or a Paris. I don't know them; but they must be fine fellows if they are anything like you."

Messire Julien's wine was good; and the company, when he had got over his initial dislike of Maitre Jacques le Boiteux, and forgotten the manner of his introduction, Arnoul found charming enough. It was the first, but by no means the last visit he paid to Julien's tavern.

So he continued studying the crabbed pages at St. Victor's, and reading, without altogether understanding it, the living book of human nature that lay opened before his eyes. He began to think it a fine thing to boast and swagger about as others did; and spent far more than he could afford on clothes and ornament, frequently making his way to the town on the other bank of the Seine, to visit the shops and make purchases. Old Ben Israel noted him down with a shrewd leer as a future client, and bowed until his four fringes touched the