"Oh, by good St. Genevieve, this can be no other than my worthy friend and kinsman, the abbot of Tongland!" said Gray, joyously, as he pressed through a crowd of bubous-shaped Flemings, towards where the old abbot, who wore a travelling cassock and calotte cap, with long flaps, stood near a pillar conversing with one whom he knew to be the chaunter of the abbey, an official who conducted the choir and had charge of the library, to increase the MS. stores of which, he had accompanied the earl to the Continent. "Oh that I were now at Rome, instead of loitering here in Flanders," resumed the abbot; "how many souls might yet be saved!" "The devil hath been long at his work, father abbot, since that tempting day in the Garden of Eden," said Gray, laughing, as he took the abbot's hand in his. "Good morrow, sir," said the churchman, coldly, as he scrutinized the strange costume and scarred face of the speaker. "You do not know me?" exclaimed Sir Patrick. "Nay, sir, not I." "'Tis well," said Gray, with a bitter smile, as he remembered his wound, "I seem a Muscovite, but the cowl does not make the monk. I crave a word apart, lord abbot--I have that to say, which you must hear alone." When they withdrew a pace or two back, Sir Patrick lifted his fur cap, and displayed his features more fully. "Heaven grant us its peace," exclaimed the abbot, with astonishment; "'tis my kinsman, Gray of Foulis!" "Hush," said Gray, placing a hand upon his mouth. "Rash boy, and bold as rash, what seek you here in Flanders?" asked the abbot, with gloom, alarm, and almost anger expressed in his face. "I came on the king's service; but now I seek Murielle Douglas--and Murielle I shall see, father!" "Beware, lest you find death instead." "I know the penalty, if discovered," said Gray carelessly; "but in this disguise, and with a face so altered, I may escape, as I have already eluded, the penetrating eyes of the villain Achanna." "But the earl--he whose projects are so high--so deep--so terrible!" urged the priest in a whispered voice of agony. "He will not dare to touch me here in a fortified town--" "What! You expect Earl James to be a saint in Gueldreland, though he is a devil in Galloway? What saith Horace--that those who cross the seas change their climate but _not_ their mind." "I know with what intention _he_ has crossed the seas, and for what object he will return." "You do!" said the abbot, in a husky whisper. "Aye, as well as you, father abbot, who are the keeper of that pretty burden, his conscience. I have seen, yea, and supped with, Robert, duke of Albany." "Hush!" said the abbot, glancing at his chaunter. "Ah--'tis your turn to say _hush_ now." "You have seen him--this poor outlawed prince?" "Yes, and spent an evening with him--an interesting, if not a jovial one, certainly; and in his cups, he unfolded some very pretty schemes, concerning which, I shall be silent, until I tread again the streets of Edinburgh."