snowy veil resting like a crown on her snowy hair. At her right
hand was the honoured guest, and at her left hand her grandson,
the young Prince Gregor, a big, manly boy, just returned from
school.

The long, shadowy hall, with its dark-brown raters and beams; the
double rows of nuns, with their pure veils and fair faces; the
ruddy flow of the slanting sunbeams striking upwards through the
tops of the windows and painting a pink glow high up on the
walls,--it was all as beautiful as a picture, and as silent. For
this was the rule of the cloister, that at the table all should
sit in stillness for a little while, and then one should read
aloud, while the rest listened.

"It is the turn of my grandson to read to-day," said the abbess to
Winfried; "we shall see how much he has learned in the school.
Read, Gregor; the place in the book is marked."

The tall lad rose from his seat and turned the pages of the
manuscript. It was a copy of Jerome's version of the Scriptures in
Latin, and the marked place was in the letter of St. Paul to the
Ephesians,--the passage where he describes the preparation of the
Christian as the arming of a warrior for glorious battle. The
young voice rang out clearly, rolling the sonorous words, without
slip or stumbling, to the end of the chapter.

Winfried listened, smiling. "My son," said he, as the reader
paused, "that was bravely read. Understandest thou what thou
readest?"