Jack could hardly believe in his good luck. Such a beautiful Horace, with illuminated letters and title. Sir William himself had nothing like it among his treasures. "There, there," said the priest, interrupting his thanks. "Say no more, say no more. Who is this stopping at the door?" "It is Father Barnaby as I think," said Jack, looking from the window. "I have seen him in Bridgewater. Yes, it is he." "Alack! What has brought him here just now?" groaned Father John. "He will see the pasty and spices, and there will come a lecture on fleshly appetites. Do you take the pasty into the next room; or stay! Let it remain, but hide the abbot's letter there in the cupboard. And oh, dear son, mind what you say to him. He is a hard man." Jack hastily arranged the table in order, put away the letter, picked up the priest's breviary which had fallen on the ground, and laid it open before him, and then assumed a respectful position behind Father John's chair, keeping his beloved Horace in his hand. Presently Father Barnaby entered. He was a tall, dark, thin man, who looked indeed as though good eating had little charms for him. He returned Father John's meek, flustered greeting with a certain air of condescension and authority, and Jack's scarcely at all. "Will you not take some refreshment, brother, after your ride?" asked the elder priest. "I am better provided than usual, thanks to the liberality of this good lad's father, Master Lucas of Bridgewater." "Nothing for me, thank you, brother," replied Father Barnaby. "I eat nothing between meals. To you, who lead a life so much more laborious than mine, the case is different." Jack saw the old man wince at the sarcasm, and resented it for him. "Whatever you know," thought he, "you have not learned one thing, and that is to respect your elders." "So you are Master Lucas's son of Bridgewater," said Father Barnaby, turning his dark eyes on Jack with no very friendly expression. "I have heard of you, young sir, and am glad to meet you. I must have some conversation with you before we part. But I must send my attendant brother with a message to the Hall." "Hark ye, dear son, don't anger him," whispered Father John, as Father Barnaby left the room. "Don't contradict him or give him a handle against you. He is a devil when his temper is up, the saints forgive me for saying so! And he is as keen after heresy as a terrier after a fox. Be on your guard, there's a good lad." "I will, your reverence," said Jack, and, wondering whether the trial Richard Fleming spoke of had arrived already, he lifted up his heart in prayer for strength and wisdom. But the trial was not to come just yet. Father Barnaby came back in a moment, and seating himself in the hardest chair in the room, he called Jack to stand before him, and bent his eyes upon him as though he would look him through. Jack sustained the glance with modest confidence, and waited to be spoken to.