scenes from the Scriptures. The floor was hid with rich carpets made of
coloured Eastern wools. The furniture also was rich and foreign-looking,
being inlaid with ivory and silver, while on the table stood a golden
crucifix, a miracle of art, and upon an easel, so that the light from a
hanging silver lamp fell on it, a life-sized picture of the Magdalene
by some great Italian painter, turning her beauteous eyes to heaven and
beating her fair breast.

Sir John looked about him and sniffed.

"Now, Jeffrey, would you think that you were in a monk's cell or in some
great dame's bower? Hunt under the table, man; sure, you will find her
lute and needlework. Whose portrait is that, think you?" and he pointed
to the Magdalene.

"A sinner turning saint, I think, master. Good company for laymen when
she was sinner, and good for priests now that she is saint. For the
rest, I could snore well here after a cup of yon red wine," and he
jerked his thumb towards a long-necked bottle on a sideboard. "Also,
the fire burns bright, which is not to be wondered at, seeing that it is
made of dry oak from your Sticksley Wood."

"How know you that, Jeffrey?" asked Sir John.

"By the grain of it, master--by the grain of it. I have hewn too many
a timber there not to know. There's that in the Sticksley clays which
makes the rings grow wavy and darker at the heart. See there."

Sir John looked, and swore an angry oath.