It was not until the sun was going down in the stormy west that Ralph rode up to Durford abbey. The rain had ceased an hour before sunset, and the wet roofs shone in the evening light. There were certain signs of stir as he came up. One or two idlers were standing outside the gate-house; the door was wide open, and a couple of horses were being led away round the corner. Inside the court as he rode through he saw further signs of confusion. Half a dozen packhorses were waiting with hanging heads outside the stable door, and an agitated lay brother was explaining to a canon in his white habit, rochet and cap, that there was no more room. He threw out his hands with a gesture of despair towards Ralph as he came in. “Mother of God!” he said, “here is another of them.” The priest frowned at him, and hurried up to Ralph. “Yes, father,” said Ralph, “I am another of them.” The canon explained that the stable was full, that they were exceedingly sorry, but that they were but a poor house; and that he was glad to say there was an outhouse round the corner outside where the beasts could be lodged. “But as for yourself, sir,” he said, “I know not what to do. We have every room full. You are a friend of Dr. Layton’s, sir?” “I am one of the Visitors,” said Ralph. “You must make room.” The priest sucked his lips in. “I see nothing for it,” he said, “Dr. Layton and you, sir, must share a room.” Ralph threw a leg over the saddle and slipped to the ground. “Where is he?” he asked. “He is with my Lord Abbot, sir,” he said. “Will you come with me?” The canon led the way across the court, his white fur tails swinging as he went, and took Ralph through the cloister into one of the parlours. There was a sound of a high scolding voice as he threw open the door. “What in God’s name are ye for then, if ye have not hospitality?” Dr. Layton turned round as Ralph came in. He was flushed with passion; his mouth worked, and his eyes were brutal. “See this, Mr. Torridon,” he said. “There is neither room for man or beast in this damned abbey. The guest house has no more than half a dozen rooms, and the stable--why, it is not fit for pigs, let alone the horses of the King’s Visitors.” The Abbot, a young man with a delicate face, very pale now and trembling, broke in deprecatingly. “I am very sorry, gentlemen,” he said, looking from one to the other, “but it is not my fault. It is in better repair than when I came to it. I have done my best with my Lord Abbot of Welbeck; but we are very poor, and he can give me no more.” Layton growled at him. “I don’t say it’s you, man; we shall know better when we have looked into your accounts; but I’ll have a word to say at Welbeck.” “We are to share a room, Dr. Layton,” put in Ralph. “At least--” The doctor turned round again at that, and stormed once more. “I cannot help it, gentlemen,” retorted the Abbot desperately. “I have given up my own chamber already. I can but do my best.”