AGNES DE TRACY.

CHAPTER I.

It was the Feast of S. Margaret, 1164; and never did a July morning break more brightly over the ancient city of Canterbury. The heavy, yet majestic towers of S. Martin's-the first Christian church in England-and the massy Cathedral, glowed in the slant ray of the rising sun; the grey and quaint old houses, with tall sharp roofs, roundheaded slits for windows, and here and there richly carved Norman doors,-the bridge, the castle, the gloomy wall, with embrasure and barbican, caught in their turn the earliest light: but stately above all rose the glorious Abbey of S. Augustine. The huge circuit of its enclosure walls was distinctly visible through the clear and transparent air: the curiously sculptured gate, its refectory, its cross church, its burial ground and tall cross, were

all bathed in the same purple hue. There it stood; in the world, but not of the world; enshrining in its holy earth the ashes of the earliest Archbishops; of its sainted founder, Augustine, Apostle of England; of wise Mellitus and Adeodatus; as well as of the first Christian king and his renowned

successors.

The second Nocturn was over in the Abbeychurch the glorious triumph of the Virgin Martyr had been celebrated and just as the sun-rays fell on the east end of the Choir, Te Deum burst forth from the assembled fraternity. The grey night-mist melted away from the vaulted roof and the slim shafts of the cloister gallery; the stained glass put on its crimson and golden glory; the saintly forms wrought therein came out into bolder relief: knights seemed to grasp their swords more knightfully; Bishops to wield their pastoral staff more bishopfully: and flakes of pure gold and crimson fell on the frescoed arches and flowery capitals of the Choir Piers. As the radiance of the chandeliers or crowns of light became dimmer, and the sweet influences of morning were felt in the gloomy pile, many a humble soul rejoiced to think that the Sun of Righteousness had arisen with healing in His wings; and joined truly and earnestly in the Divine Hymn of S. Ambrose,-THOU art the King of Glory, O CHRIST: THOU art the everlasting Son of the Father. Louder and louder did the music swell, more and more triumphant waxed the notes

of the choir, as they chanted with one voice and soul, Day by day we magnify Thee: and we worship Thy Name, ever world without end. The bells in S. Ethelbert's tower gave forth a merry peal, as Te Deum concluded, and Lauds, the Matin sacrifice of praise, began. While the brotherhood are calling on all things, living and inanimate, spiritual and corporeal, to laud their Maker,-let us give a glance at those who fill the Choir.

In his throne on its south side, a meek old man, in richly worked velvet cope, scarlet, as signifying the Martyr's resisting unto blood, but spangled with pure gold, to symbolize her crown, and inwrought with fleurs-de-lys of pearls, fit emblems of her virgin purity, sat Odo, Lord Abbat of the Monastery of SS. Peter and Paul the Apostles, and S. Augustine, the first Archbishop. His pastoral staff was fixed by the side of the throne, the crook being turned inwards, to shew that his jurisdiction was not like that of a Bishop, over those without, but only reached to those of his own. A few grey locks escaped on either side of his golden mitre, with its rich inlay of jewels: and there sat on his features a composure and serenity well beseeming his high station; mixed, it may be, with a shade of timidity, such as befitted rather the Abbat than the Bishop. Before him lay a mighty volume, of gemmed exterior and illuminated vellum pages, scored in the simple musical notation of the times. On the south side, at the entrance of the Choir, sat Eadbald, the

Saxon Prior; a man of some forty years of age, with the blue eye and fair complexion that strongly spoke of his race: and if the general cast of his countenance wore the melancholy natural to that then oppressed nation, his eye seemed occasionally to brighten at the recollection that the first Saxon Archbishop since the Conquest then ruled the Church of England. Opposite to him, and on the other side of the Choir door, was Warel the Subprior and in their richly carved stalls, whose balls and wreaths of flowers shewed the rapid introduction of the new style of church architecture, sat the sixty monks of the Foundation. The Altar, with golden candlesticks, monstrance, and reliquary; the stone roodscreen, with its seven lamps; the great brazen eagle, in the centre of the Choir; the lingering scent of sweet incense; the rich robes, the gorgeous hangings, the frescoed roof, the glowing tiles, the sublime Altar ascent, the solemn Gregorian chant; let the mind conceive all these at once, and it will have some faint idea of the scene as it then

was.

Lauds are over: Abbat Odo has given the blessing, and, preceded by the silver cross and pastoral staff, passes from the Choir, and followed by the brotherhood, walks solemnly down the long Nave to its western door. Anxiously waiting for his exit stood brother Edred the porter.

"My lord," he said, "here is one of Sir Ranulph de Broc's villeins newly arrived, who beareth tidings

that his lord is very grievous sick, and despaired of by the leech. And he beseecheth you for GOD'S love, and the amity that hath been so long between you, that you lose no time, but visit him at Saltwood, where he lieth ill; for he hath that to say which concerneth not only his bodily and ghostly health, but toucheth also on the welfare of this house."

"GOD shield," said the Abbat, "that a sick man should call for aid, and a churchman refuse to render it. Let the brethren know that we shall not partake of our morning meal with them: and let brother Roland say morrow mass in S. Alphege's chapel for the health of the good knight Ranulph de Broc. Cause them to make ready my palfrey; and pray brother Warel to ride with us this morning to Saltwood and let the Infirmarer also come, bringing with him such drugs as from the villein's tale he thinketh likely to be of avail. Strange virtues have our country plants, when blessed by the prayers of Holy Church; and the leech is oftentimes of avail when, as the Psalmist saith, Omnem escam abominata est anima eorum, et ad portas mortis appropinquaverunt."

"I will do your bidding, my lord," replied the porter: and the Abbat retired to doff his priestly robes, and to prepare for his journey.

In somewhat less than an hour, mounted on his ambling palfrey, the Sub-prior riding by his side, and the Infirmarer at a short distance behind, Abbat