knoweth who readeth hearts!), may not work its appointed way without
an application which poor and frail men might scarcely dare for any
less object. There is abroad, Galors, dear brother, a most malignant
viper, lurking, as I may say, in the very bosom of Holy Church; warmed
there, nesting there, yet fouling the nest, and grinding her tooth
that she may strike at the heart of us, and shiver what hath been so
long a-building up. Of that viper you, Galors, are the chosen
instrument--you and the charter--to draw the tooth."

The Abbot spoke in a low voice, and was breathless; it was not hard to
see that he was uncommonly in earnest. Galors turned over in his mind
all possible plots against an Abbey's peaceful being--tale-bearing to
the Archbishop, a petition for a Papal Legate, a foreshore trouble, a
riot among the fishermen of Wanmouth, some encroachment by the ragged
brethren of Francis and Dominic--and dismissed them all as not serious
enough to lose breath about.

"Who is your viper, father?" was what he said.

"It is the girl Isoult of Matt-o'-the-Moor; Isoult whom they call La
Desirous," replied his spiritual father. The heart of Galors gave a
hot jump; he knew the girl well enough--too well for her, not well
enough yet for himself. It was precisely to win the woeful beauty of
her that he had set his snares and unleashed his dogs. Did the Abbot
know anything? Impossible; his reference forbad the fear. Was the girl
something more than a dark woodland elf, a fairy, haggard and
dishevelled, whose white shape shining through rags had made his blood
stir? The mask of his face safeguarded him through this maze of
surmise; nothing out of the depths of him was ever let to ruffle that
dead surface. He commanded his voice to ask, How should he find such a