set up a chattering and a muttering, with now and then a kind of mocking laughter like a madman’s meaningless merriment.  Nor would he cease until my lord clouted him twice or thrice rudely on his ill-favoured crown with a “Hist, folly, stay thy devil’s clatter.”  Now, this beast it was, one, I suppose, of those apes that King Solomon trafficked in, that gave rise to the saying that a familiar from Hell housed with my lord in Guernsey.  But being of a bold spirit, and expecting even worse than I yet saw from the ill-fame of my lord, and the tales of monk and churl, I stood firm, and with something of a courtier’s air placed in his hand the letter I bore, with a simple, “Greeting, your grace, from my lord the Abbot of the Vale;” and as I gave the letter, I set my gaze on him for the first time square and straight, and met eyes as keen and straight as mine own.  Now, this surprised me, for I had heard evil men could not look straight into men’s faces.  He was far above the common height, and his body and face were very fat; like a great bull of the stall he lay in his chair.  His face was full and red, and I noted he had little hair, save a mass, half grey, half red, that clung about his ears and neck.  Of his passions I was soon to see evidence, for having gazed at me a moment, he took the letter from my hand, tore away the seal, and unrolled the scroll.  As he did so I saw another little scroll roll out, which fell upon the ground before my feet.  Then I knelt and handed this to him likewise.  Can I ere forget his look as he took it from me, or wrung it rather from my fingers?

“Whence hast thou this?  Whence came it?” he shrieked, with a rabble of ill words; and for a moment it seemed he would have crushed me in his great sinewy clenched hands as I stood there before him.  His face was scarlet that before was only red.  Great black veins started up upon his forehead, and his round blue eyes were straining out of the flesh in which they were enclosed.

I stood firm before him, and humbly showed him that the second scroll fell out of the first.  Then he turned suddenly upon his heel and went towards the window, and looking forth upon the bay below in a few moments calmed himself, read what was writ on the first scroll, and with an air of unconcern tossed them to a corner of the table.

“Thou knowest naught of these papers, lad?” he said at length.

“Naught, my lord, in good faith, save that I bore them hither.”

“And thou didst well to do that,” he said, “for here is a matter dangerous to me, as thou sawest by mine anger.  Your good abbot hath done well to send me this letter by thee.”

I answered not, since it was not for me to speak, and yet I craved to know what could be in the second scroll to move him so.

“May I return with your grace’s greeting or other message to my lord?” I said.

“Ay, and by word of mouth,” he said.  “We exiled men well-nigh forget to write, nor have much practice in the tools of the clerk.  Tell the abbot the Archbishop of Rouen thanks him for his courtesy, and that this paper—­this paper was written by some foe of other days that chooses thus to strike the fallen.  Canst thou carry that.”