niece of the Conqueror and wife of Waltheof, Earl of Northampton and Huntingdon, the Saxon hero and martyr, had founded an abbey of Benedictine nuns, endowing it with many broad acres. The stately a

ached, headed by the ancient steward. He recognized the wife of the Robber Baron, but received her with a low obeisance; for he knew her to be a dutiful servant of the Church, and one who protested, as far as in her lay, against

ps burning in the bare, unfurnished nave, which on an occasion like the present was thrown open to the public, who could listen to the offices chanted by the nuns wi

ht Margaret felt almost happy. A calm, a peace, such as she had not known for months, stole over her somewhat weak and susceptible nature as she listened to the singing in the gloomy twilight of the grand church, and it fanned the ray of hope wh

ution of the Church; his text, so to speak, was the evil-doings of Fulke de Breauté. Of course he was unaware of the presence of the latter's unhappy wife, or he would not have touched so directly on the personal character of the Robber Baron, nor enlarged so particularly on the destruction of St. Paul's Church and the raid u

ve and into the outer court to the abbey gateway. But the Lady Margaret made

op; but in the thirteenth century Elstow Abbey retained most of its proper character and strict discipline. In so important a house, owning such wide estates, the abbess had many secular rights, duties, and privileges to occupy her without, so a prioress was responsible for the internal arrangement and order. To the abbess it fell, as the dignified head of the house, to receive visitors and to exercise hospitality. To the abbess Lady Margaret accordingly presented her

her garb, h

n Benedict

pale, her fo

d peniten

nched the lig

d similar to that used by the monks of the order and worn by the nuns in church. In her right hand she carried her pastoral staff

well known to her; and all persons of whatever ecclesiastical degree who were acquainted with i

elenstowe, and to the protection of Our Lady and the Most Holy Trinity

re of benediction, and the Lady M

church is indeed a privilege which lessens for me the remembrance of the many burdens which

he holy office? Alas that it has been so, and that on your ears have fallen the words of our

side of the screen, and they had heard that denunciation of Fulke de Brea

that the deeds of my lord have indeed deserved the just vengeance of Heaven. But I have come to entreat the p

abbess Fulke's dream of the preceding night,

ffer me, I pray, to remain awhile under this holy roof, that I may share in the ministrati

exhortations. And indeed, that you may enjoy more frequent opportunities of converse with him in the intervals between the offices, I will arrange for you to be my guest in my lodgings, instead of sharing that portion of the abbey bu

ed with tears at the

y of your goodness and hospitality. Who a

o are in misery does Holy Church hold out her arms. Enter

f and the abbess's chaplain--that is to say, one of the sisters specially selected as he

of relating her story. The good priest was able to add further cheering suggestions to those already ma

k than I have been for many a long day. I pray you now to permit me to retire into the

o the dark and silent cloisters, which ran along the south side of the nave of the chur

un, devou

eadfast,

obe of dar

ith majes

tole of cyp

; for no opening was allowed to exist in the close screen shutting off the nave, which was occasionally open to the public. Into the chanc

the faint glow of a few lamps before the images of the saints, the church was almost dark. At the extreme end of the chancel, before t

of the great tower above them. In front of this pier stood a more than life-size figure of St. Paul. Bu

et, "the sword has fallen from t

lke de Breauté had destroyed the fair church of St. Paul at Bedford, I vowed to the saints that his s

red her face with her

nce of a true repenta

her hand soothin

she said, "I should not

crossing under the tower and a portion of the chancel, and approached the high

argaret, "one of the si

r the time the habit of our novices. Poor child, she is in sore distress! It is sad to see one so young and fair thus cast down. Her talk is all of embracing the reli

r thoughts wandered for a brief moment, even in the precincts of her abbey ch

ently in sore perplexity. She has had much talk with her uncle,

and perceiving the abbess, rose and approached to make an obeisance. The sad face, marble-like