CHAPTER III


GREY EYES

Where a stream, running through a wide track of woodland, turned to flow
round three sides of a plateau of rising ground, a community of
Cistercian monks had long ago founded their home. Possibly the original
building was of small dimensions, but as the wealth of the community
increased it had been enlarged from time to time, and, it would appear,
with an ever-increasing idea of comfort. Of this completed building as
the monks knew it, a large part remained, some of it in a more or less
ruinous state it is true, but much of it incorporated in the work of
those subsequent builders who had succeeded in converting Aylingford
Abbey into one of the most picturesque residences in Hampshire. It faced
away from the stream, and the long, massive front, besides being the
most modern part of the building, was the least interesting aspect;
indeed, it was difficult to get a comprehensive view of it, because the
woods approached so closely that the traveller came upon it almost
unawares. From every other side the outlines of the Abbey were
singularly beautiful. Here a small spire sharply cut the sky, or a
graceful point of roof told of a chapel or high-pitched hall; there,
half frowning, half friendly, a mass of creeper-clad, grey wall looked
capable of withstanding a siege. In some places solid pieces of masonry
spoke of comparatively recent improvement, while towards one end of the
building walls had crumbled, leaving ruined chambers open to wind and