Lanfranc was seated with his episcopal brother in the embrasure of a deep window, looking out upon the cathedral close of Canterbury.
"It was sad, indeed, my brother," said the archbishop. "I scarcely have known a sadder day than that of my installation. The cathedral which thou seest slowly rising from its ruins yonder, had been destroyed by fire, with all its ornaments, charters, and title deeds. One would think that the heathen Danes had once more overspread the land, instead of our own Christian countrymen."
"And yet we two are answerable to some extent for this conquest. Without thee it had never been; thou didst gain the sanction of the Pope and then preach it as a crusade. I followed the army to Hastings, absolved the troops, and blessed its banners on the day of the great victory."
"Heaven grant we may not have done wrong; but the sheep are scattered abroad, as when a wolf entereth the fold."
"Thou mayest yet be the means of reconciling the conquerors and the conquered--the Church is their natural mediator."
"God helping me, I will do justice between them; but the task is a heavy one--it is hard, nay, terrible, to stand against the will of this Conqueror."
"For this cause, perhaps, thou, who fearest not the face of man, art chosen of Heaven."
A low knock at the door interrupted them.
"Enter," cried Lanfranc; and a monk of the Benedictine order, who discharged the duty of chamberlain, appeared.
"A brother of our order craves an audience."