degree be accounted for by the fact of his mother having been born in the East; but he himself was a native of England; and, except a short residence at Bologna, where he had been sent for his monastic training by his patron, the Archbishop Theobald, he had never quitted his own country.

Much care was already written upon that brow, although the prior was still a young man; but ambition is a wearing passion, and no gown of serge, or shirt of hair, ever covered a breast more madly heaving with ambitious hope and desire, than did that which now enveloped the tall and supple form of the prior of Severnstoke. None could behold in him the mere ordinary mortal, nor could his holy garb thoroughly endue him with the meek and lowly air so befitted to his calling. There was in him more of the soldier than of the priest, more of the statesman than the bookworm, and, perhaps, yet more than either, of the gay and chivalrous character of the Norman knight, though tempered down to strict outward decorum-for very careful was the holy father of his earthly reputation. Through it, he had attained his present position, but he had still much to gain; and he had long since resolved that by his fault no chance should ever be thrown away. To rise to the highest honours is the natural wish of every aspiring nature, the dream of every ambitious mind, but with him it was more than a desire, more than a dream, it was a determination. He felt that the destiny of man lies mainly in the will of man, and to work out the dictates of that resolute will he devoted every energy of his soul. His strong and comprehensive mind never .wavered; he anticipated the success he was resolved to obtain; and the confidence this sentiment inspired was a first step towards his end.

As yet, from the position of affairs, no great opportunity had presented itself to Father Thomas of advancing his views. The routine of monastic life offered little variety of incident, and attracted but little intercourse with the outer world. The monotony of such a life could not but be irksome to a nature like his; but the necessity of a most scrupulous observance of duty was too imperative to be unheeded; and so, for many months, and many years,

had this ardent and aspiring nature been drilled down to a mere observance of ceremonies, a shriver of penitents, and a dispenser of discipline in a severe and secluded monastery, while his heart panted for the senate and the battle-field, the palace and the tourney; and tidings of the crusaders were ever eagerly welcomed; for his secret dream was of Palestine—to him it was the promised land. Such thoughts were, however, carefully locked within his breast; he was but the poor prior of Severnstokethe hard-working tool of the profligate abbot-and, moreover, the artificer of his own future dignity; therefore, for him, work, and penance, and privation, and, above all, vigilance. His watchfulness was unbounded; his penetration immense. So thoroughly did he study the nature and character of every one within his reach, that he almost seemed to read their thoughts. Through this knowledge, his power naturally increased; and as his decisions were as prompt as the punishment which followed, those under his rule had learned to regard him with fear and awe, for, to their common minds, something supernatural prompted the intelligence he possessed. This distinction gratified him: it was a beginning. From a very poor Benedictine friar he had risen, without the advantages of rank or fortune, to be prior of a monastery of great importance. He had effected it by the force of his will, by his industry, patience, and submission. It was sweet to reap the fruits of so much toil, even though those fruits consisted in being overwhelmed with work by the constant absence of the lazy abbot, or acting as arbiter in all the small differences and difficulties frequently recurring in the various religious houses dependent upon the abbey.

The object of his present journey, or rather excursion, was to answer, in person, a summons he had received from the abbess of the neighbouring convent, to "aid her in her hour of need with his fatherly wisdom and advice." It was not the first time the holy father had been thus called upon. The Lady Isolda was one of those persons eternally asking comfort and advice; and such was her reverence for the opinion of the prior, that even the most trifling differences among the sisterhood were made the subject of grave consultation. Of this the prior was

well aware; but it was part of his system never to think anything beneath his notice; and so the poorest and meanest had equal chance with the greatest, and the ready ear of Father Thomas was ever open to their sorrows and complaints. In reality this eternal round of human littlenesses wearied and galled him to the very soul; it was like the pricking of pins to his ardent spirit; but he bore it, and suppressed all outward show of irritation.

"Some squabble amongst the nuns, or petty thieving of the servants," said he to himself, as he mounted his mule. But he went, notwithstanding; and during his four miles ride no sign of impatience escaped him, save now and then when the over-fed and lazy animal he bestrode seemed more inclined to lie down upon the hill than to ascend it. On such occasions the holy father would dismount, and, calling upon his attendants to drive on the mule, he hastily reached the summit on foot. Then, as he strode along the rugged path, might have been seen the vigorous and martial step of the young prior, the fire of his eye, the rapidity of his gesture. But when once more within the observation of his fellow men, he reseated himself upon his sorry steed, the cowl was drawn down, and, as he crossed the court leading to the nunnery of Clairvaux, he was again the meek and lowly shepherd, come to minister to the welfare of his lambs.

The abbess was in the chapel of the convent when the prior arrived; but, as the last notes of the chant were dying upon the air, he turned down the cloisters, and, desiring the lay-sister in attendance to await the termination of the service before informing the Lady Isolda of his presence, he entered the parlour, and was admitted at once behind the grating to the private sitting-room of the lady abbess.

CHAPTER III.

AND Soon the Lady Isolda entered. She was habited in the usual dress of the Sisters of the Order of St. Bernard -a long flowing robe of white serge, with ample sleeves,

and black facings, and a high and stiff gorget of white linen, with a large hood of black cloth fastened to the forehead. No ornament distinguished her from the community over which she presided, except a heavy gold cross and a ring of the same metal.

The prior, who was seated, rose from his chair as he perceived her entrance, and, with a slight inclination of the body, uttered a gentle "Benedicite." The lady abbess replied, "Save you, my father." After a very deep curtsey, with her hands folded upon her breast, she moved forward towards a sort of chair of state, carved in oak, and placed opposite a small table. She then pointed to a stool near her right hand. The prior took his seat; and these very simple movements were all performed with a stiffness and gravity, in which each seemed to vie with the other as to the proper degree of rigidity to be observed.

As

The abbess was a woman who had passed her sixtieth year, but the prior, in craft and acuteness, more than doubled her age. The Lady Isolda had not much craft, but she had faith, and fanaticism, and superstition to a marvellous degree. Her reverence for the prior was unbounded-her fear of his displeasure incredible. he hastily scanned the demure countenance before him, Father Thomas saw that the abbess was sorely troubled; but his intimate acquaintance with the petty nature of her griefs in general might account for the slightly derisive air of resignation with which he awaited their disclosure, for in courtesy he did not permit himself to be the first to speak. The Lady Isolda sighed, then cast her meek eyes to heaven, then replaced her rosary within the folds of her dress. At length she said,

"Reverend father, forgive me if I have thus soon again disturbed you; but a heavy sorrow has fallen upon my heart, and, woe is me! a disgrace to our house may be the consequence."

"My sister," replied the prior, gravely, "in a wellordered community-in one where the fear of God and the love of the holy Church are the sole guides of those who rule, such frequent transgressions should not be found in those who obey. It was but last week that sister Cunegonda received four-and-twenty stripes, for

robbing the hen-roost and regaling herself with fresh eggs upon a solemn day of fast. The week before last sister Agatha did penance, for three days and nights, for having secreted a ribbon of gold thread, intended for the new petticoat of our Blessed Lady; while, if I remember aright, a short time previously, sisters Martha and Edelgitha said forty aves and fifteen credos for their spite to the poor lay-sisters, whom they served with salt instead of sugar, in their confectionary, at the high feast of St. Augustine. Now, with all due respect, holy mother-blessed sister in the Lord-I must believe that were due discipline enforced, such grievous fallings away could not so often recur. Peradventure you have been lax in your authority, my sister;—your kind heart may have misled you. Speak! is it so ?"

Holy father," replied the abbess, who had listened with a flushed cheek and downcast look, "your last words to me, a poor servant of God, were, 'Sister, I charge you be vigilant.' I have not forgotten them, my father;"and she raised her eyes with a timid and respectful air to the face of the prior.

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"Yea, my sister, you are right-vigilance was indeed my last word, as it is ever my first thought. By it many an error is avoided, many a sorrow spared; it is verily a safeguard-a watch-tower to the weakness of our souls." "Weakness, but not wickedness; not premeditated sin," ejaculated the abbess, with a look of devout horror: against weakness, my father, who shall guard? Oh! it is grievous to dwell among such misguided spiritspoor sinners though we are! But we must punish, for we seek to serve the Lord." And she folded her hands with a penitent and deprecating air; for the lady abbess was a pattern woman, and dreaded the imputation of even an ungodly thought.

The prior looked calmly at the abbess; her hard grey eye, unshaded by eyelash, was dilated and angry; and she turned the beads of her rosary rapidly round and round. Father Thomas had never before seen her so agitated but as she was not usually very concise of speech, he forbore to question her; and she went on.

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Verily the backslidings of our flocks are as thorns in our sides; they peril their wretched souls like children at