A dead silence throughout the room, with a rolling of heads and
upturning of eyes, bespoke the pious horror of the community.

The Abbot drew his gray brows low over his fiercely questioning
eyes.

"Who can vouch for this thing?" he asked.

"That can I," answered the accuser. "So too can brother
Porphyry, who was with me, and brother Mark of the Spicarium, who
hath been so much stirred and inwardly troubled by the sight that
he now lies in a fever through it."

"And the woman?" asked the Abbot. "Did she not break into
lamentation and woe that a brother should so demean himself?"

"Nay, she smiled sweetly upon him and thanked him. I can vouch
it and so can brother Porphyry."

"Canst thou?" cried the Abbot, in a high, tempestuous tone.
"Canst thou so? Hast forgotten that the five-and-thirtieth rule
of the order is that in the presence of a woman the face should
be ever averted and the eyes cast down? Hast forgot it, I say?
If your eyes were upon your sandals, how came ye to see this
smile of which ye prate? A week in your cells, false brethren, a
week of rye-bread and lentils, with double lauds and double
matins, may help ye to remembrance of the laws under which ye
live."