carved. The smaller portion of the room beyond the arch made an alcove
for sleeping, which could be completely shut off by a heavy curtain;
the larger part was paved with stone, and in one corner a low wooden
platform, on which stood a heavy table before a carved bench fastened
to the wall, was set apart for writing and study. On the table, besides
the lamp, there stood a reading-desk, and above the bench a strong
shelf carried a number of objects, including several large bottles of
ink, a pot of glue for fastening leaves of parchment, and two or three
jars of blue and white earthenware. On nails there hung a brush of half
dried broom, a broad-brimmed rush hat, and a blackened rosary. On the
other side of the table, and by the window, there was a small holy-
water basin with a little besom. On the walls were hung pieces of
coarse linen roughly embroidered with small crosses flory, worked in
dark red silk. The vault was blank and white, and rushes were strewn on
the stone pavement. In the deep embrasures of the windows there were
dark window-seats worn black with age.

The abbot had begun a letter, but the pen lay beside the unfinished
writing, his elbow rested on the parchment, and he shaded his eyes from
the light. The brilliancy was gone from his face and was succeeded by
an almost earthy pallor, while his attitude expressed both lassitude
and dejection. He had done what had been required of him, he had fired
the passion of the hour, and one hour had shown him how completely it
was to be beyond his control. He remembered how Peter the Hermit had
led the vast advance-guard of the First Crusade to sudden and miserable
destruction before the main force could be organized; he had seen
enough on that afternoon to prove to him that the air was laden with
such disaster, of which the responsibility would surely be heaped upon
himself. He regretted not the thoughts he had preached, but the fact of
having yielded to preach at all to such men and at such a time. He had