"Ay, was he moved? And what said he when he perceived that inner scroll?" inquired the abbot.
"Moved, Father! I thought he might have done some deadly deed. But he calmed himself at length."
"And what sent he in return?"
"Nothing in writing," I answered, "but this by my mouth—that the inner scroll was the writing of some foe of other days, who thus strikes at a fallen man."
The abbot mused in silence at this reply, and took a pace or two beside his lily border. Then he gazed seriously at me for a moment, and bade me walk by his side.
"Thou hast seen to-day, son, one of the world's schemers, and thou hadst been, as was natural, deceived by him. With ill men first impressions are the true ones. Thou hadst been more than a stripling of the cloister, and we had taught thee over well for thy years, had he, whose power has lain in such arts, not made thee love him in spite of thyself. Son, dost thou know why this Maugher lies here in exile?"
"Ay, Father, was he not like St. John of old, who said, 'Thou shalt not have her:' to King Herod?" answered I, as I thought aptly.
"Indeed, my son, they said so, and strong were the archbishop's words when Duke William wedded against God's law. But thou wilt learn, that words and censures of Holy Church are too oft like daggers and knives in the hands of evil men in high places of the Church—and such was this censure of the marriage of Matilda in the hand of Maugher. He would have cut his way with it—dost thou know whither, son?"
"Whither, Father?"
"My son, to the dukedom itself, Churchman though he was."