"Send him hither."

The sandalled feet clattered over the wooden floor, and the
iron-bound door creaked upon its hinges. In a few moments it
opened again to admit a short square monk with a heavy, composed
face and an authoritative manner.

"You have sent for me, holy father?"

"Yes, brother Jerome, I wish that this matter be disposed of with
as little scandal as may be, and yet it is needful that the
example should be a public one." The Abbot spoke in Latin now,
as a language which was more fitted by its age and solemnity to
convey the thoughts of two high dignitaries of the order.

"It would, perchance, be best that the novices be not admitted,"
suggested the master. "This mention of a woman may turn their
minds from their pious meditations to worldly and evil thoughts."

"Woman! woman!" groaned the Abbot. "Well has the holy Chrysostom
termed them _radix malorum_. From Eve downwards, what good hath
come from any of them? Who brings the plaint?"

"It is brother Ambrose."

"A holy and devout young man."

"A light and a pattern to every novice."