"It is my duty; but of thy grace--tell me whom I entertain." "The Lord of Aescendune, and patron of your branch house there." The chamberlain bowed low, and turned to lead his guest within the precincts. The rowers cried "largesse," and the young noble threw them a handful of coin. Soon Etienne was alone in a comfortable cell, and was attiring his person, a duty a Norman seldom neglected; nor did he despise the luxury of a bath, to the scorn of the un-laving natives. The Norman was the gentleman of the period, alike in etiquette, attire, and food. And likewise, some of the most beautiful of the animal creation are the fiercest carnivora. The abbot had put off his riding attire; he had clothed his feet in dainty slippers instead of sandals, and had thrown a soft robe around his monastic garb--contrasting strongly with the stern attire prescribed by St. Benedict, and he was about to descend to the hall, when the chamberlain in person told him of the arrival of Etienne. "Bid him share our poor meal; we will hear no bad news till we have broken our fast; they sit ill on an empty stomach." The chamberlain retired. And there at the guest table in the refectory sat Etienne, and marvelled to see how well the ascetics fared. Yet there was refinement in their dishes; and there was little or no excess; they drank the light wines of France, not the heavier ale and mead of their predecessors. The Latin grace said, they fell to. The joints of meat were passed round, the game, the fish, and each used his fingers in the place of forks, and then washed them in the finger glasses, which had some purpose then to serve, ere they waved them in the air, and then wiped them on delicate napkins. The meal over, the abbot retired to his chamber, a pleasant room, overlooking the river, and there he took his seat in a cosy chair near the Gothic window, and sent for the visitor. Etienne appeared; bent with the grace of youth, kissed the abbot's hand, and then standing before him, with all due modesty, waited to be addressed. Such etiquette was exacted of those who had not yet won their spurs. The abbot gave him a short benediction, a brief "Dens te custodiat fili," and quickly added, "I am told thou hast news for me of our little patrimony at Aescendune." "The wolves have ravaged it, father; our own pious brethren are ejected; English swine root in its precincts." The abbot coloured. "Who has dared to do this impiety?" he thundered. "The English rebels and outlaws, who have long lain hidden in the woods, led by the son of the rebel lord who fell at Senlac." "The brethren--are they safe?" "They are on their journey hither; the saints have protected them--no thanks to the English." "And how dared the stripling thou namest to do such deeds; where was thy father, the Baron?" "He was foully slain in an ambush:" and Etienne, who strove to keep cool, could not restrain a strange quivering of the lips. "Come, tell me all, my son; God comfort thee."