"Think not to turn this holy place into a house of merchandise, my son!"
"Nay, Father, not merchandise, but treasure."
"Treasure?" interrupted the Abbot, his interest kindling. "How say you?"
"Ay, a trifle saved from the wreck of my past, together with a little I have amassed during some twenty years of wandering. Of a surety I would offer the Abbey a good percentum for the care thereof, together with the right to retain all profits from its use."
"My son, thou art generous to Holy Mother Church."
"Nay, but I go farther. Should aught amiss happen to Raymond or me, the whole of my worldly goods I leave to the Abbey, without condition."
"Then, my son, I accept, in the name of the Order, the charge confided to us. I will see to it this instant that Brother Aloysius, our scribe, will draft the agreement thereunto." And going to the door, the Abbot, his eyes shining at the thought of adding to the treasury, rang a bell that brought one of the lay servitors hastening to his presence.
"Bring Brother Aloysius hither."
With little loss of time the scrivener arrived, and the agreement was drawn up and signed. This done, the Abbot dismissed Redward, and, once more alone, leaned back in his chair with intense satisfaction.
Keep Raymond within the Abbey, let him take the oaths of the Order, and all would be well. The Abbey would benefit considerably, for, once a monk, Raymond would be heirless. On the other hand, should father and son go to the wars—well, there were chances that they might not return, and then——. The Abbot sighed, for, in spite of his pious greed, he chid himself for his momentary satisfaction at the thought of harm happening to the young man, of whose presence as a novice he had many pleasing recollections.