"The Lord of Sheppey! Bless me!" said the Abbot, crossing himself,
"won't that be rather inconvenient? Sir Robert is a bold baron, and a
powerful: blows will come and go, and crowns will be cracked and--"

"What is that to you, since yours will not be of the number?"

"Very true, _Beatissime!_--I will don me with speed and do your
bidding."

"Do so, Anselm!--fail not to hang the Baron, burn his castle,
confiscate his estate, and buy me two large wax candles for my own
particular shrine out of your share of the property."

With this solemn injunction, the vision began to fade.

"One thing more!" cried the Abbot, grasping his rosary.

"What is that?" asked the Saint.

"_O Beate Augustine, ora pro nobis!_"

"Of course I shall," said St. Austin. _"Pax vo-biscum!"_--and Abbot
Anselm was left alone.

Within an hour all Canterbury was in commotion. A friar had been
murdered,--two friars--ten, twenty; a whole convent had been
assaulted, sacked, burnt,--all the monks had been killed, and all the
nuns had been kissed! Murder! fire! sacrilege! Never was city in such
an uproar. From St. George's gate to St. Dunstan's suburb, from the
Donjon to the borough of Staplegate, it was noise and hubbub. "Where