It was a sharp frosty morning in February. Margaret, Doucebelle, and Belasez were at work in the bower, while Father Nicholas was hearing Marie read Latin in the ante-chamber. The other chaplains were also present,--Father Warner, who, with Nicholas, belonged to the Earl; and Father Bruno, the chaplain of the Countess. Also present was Master Aristoteles, the reverend physician of the household. Fortunately for herself, Marie was by no means shy, and she feared the face of no human creature unless it were Father Warner, who, Margaret used to say, had eyes in the back of his head, and could hear what the cows were thinking about in the meadow. He was an extremely strict disciplinarian when on duty, but he never interfered with the proceedings of a brother tutor. Father Bruno was a new inmate of the household. He had come from Lincoln, with a recommendation from the recently-appointed Bishop, but had been there too short a time to show his character, since he was a silent man, who appeared to see everything and to say nothing. "Very well, my daughter. Thou hast been a good, attentive maiden this morning," said Father Nicholas, when the reading was finished. "Then, Father, will you let me off my sums?" was Marie's quick response. Marie hated arithmetic, which was Doucebelle's favourite study. "Nay, my child," said Father Nicholas, in an amused tone; "that is not my business. Thou must ask Father Warner." "Please, Father Warner, will you let me off my sums?" pleaded Marie, but in a more humble style. "Certainly not, daughter. Fetch them at once." Marie left the room with a grieved face. "No news abroad, I suppose, my brethren?" suggested Master Aristoteles, in his brisk, simple, innocent manner. "Nay, none but what we all knew before," said Father Nicholas. "Methinks the world wags but slowly," said Master Aristoteles. "Much too fast," was the oracular reply of Father Warner. "The pace of the world depends mainly on our own wishes, I take it," said Father Nicholas. "He who would fain walk thinks the world is at a gallop; while he who desires to gallop reckons the world but jogging at a market-trot." "There has been a great massacre of Jews in Spain," said Father Bruno, speaking for the first time. All the conversation was plainly audible to the girls in the next room. When Father Bruno spoke, Belasez's head went up suddenly, and her work stood still. "Amen and Alleluia!" said Father Warner, who probably little suspected that he was using Hebrew words to express his abhorrence of the Hebrews. "Nay, my brother!" answered Father Bruno, gravely. "Shall we thank God for the perdition of human souls?" "Of course not,--of course not!" interposed Father Nicholas, quickly. "I am sure our Brother Warner thanked God for the vindication of the Divine honour." "And is not the Divine honour more fully vindicated by far," demanded Father Bruno, "when a soul is saved from destruction, than when it is plunged therein?"