On the left, and but half a mile from the castle, lay the Abbey where William De Bellair, favorite of the King, renegade cleric and forsworn Crusader, held usurping sway over the monks and lay brethren and the fields and vineyards that had been the rightful domain of our associate at Stamford whom we still greeted as the Abbot of Moberley. At a like distance from Moberley Castle was a fork in the road just beyond a timbered bridge o’er a stream. There the left-hand track led to the Abbey and that on the right went straight to the castle gates. At the full trot we took the former turning, and soon were calling for admittance at the Abbey doors. This, to a devoted band of pilgrims, was not long denied. The gates were thrown ajar, and, leaving two trusty fellows to care for the horses in the outer courtyard, we passed into the refection hall of the monastery to pay our respects to this venerable seat of piety and learning. Our worthy palmers scattered themselves about the great room with its low timbered ceiling and mighty fireplace, and engaged in talk with the monks or in reverent examining of the painted series on the walls, the work of an earnest though not too highly skilled lay brother, and setting forth the story of Joseph and his brethren. After a little, Sir Cedric, acting as our leader, sent word to the Abbot whom we had not yet seen, that here was a group of a score and more of palmers who now paid their first visit to the far-renowned Abbey of Moberley and who wished to have speech with the reverend master of the house ere they departed. This message, with its accompanying compliments, accomplished its intent; and soon William De Bellair, in all the robes of his office, entered the hall from an inner door and seated himself in his great chair on the dais. If ever the character and history of a man were written on his face, ’twas so with the false Abbot of Moberley. My gorge rose within me at the sight of his red and bloated countenance that told so plainly of a life the very opposite of that led by a true monk and churchman. His mean and shifty little gray eyes were all but covered with folds and wrinkles of fat, yet quite sufficiently revealed a nature compounded of fox and pig. De Bellair was one of a group of dissolute Frenchmen who had won the favor of the King and the hatred of true Englishmen by supporting our lawless and grasping sovereign in all his schemes for the seizure of power and wealth. It was against them nearly as much as the King that our banner of revolt had been raised; and in our Articles of Stamford we had already named a half dozen of the worst of them who must be deprived of all offices and banished from the Kingdom. ’Twas no blame to the Church that such miscreants profaned some of her holy offices. In defiance of her rights of ancient usage, they had been thrust by their royal master into the places they disgraced, oftentimes in reward for services which would not bear recording.