The year was the 1,349th from
man's salvation.
From tierce to sext, and then again from sext to nones, Abbot John
of the House of Waverley had been seated in his study while he
conducted the many high duties of his office. All around for many
a mile on every side stretched the fertile and flourishing estate
of which he was the master. In the center lay the broad Abbey
buildings, with church and cloisters, hospitium, chapter-house and
frater-house, all buzzing with a busy life. Through the open
window came the low hum of the voices of the brethren as they
walked in pious converse in the ambulatory below. From across the
cloister there rolled the distant rise and fall of a Gregorian
chant, where the precentor was hard at work upon the choir, while
down in the chapter-house sounded the strident voice of Brother
Peter, expounding the rule of Saint Bernard to the novices.
Abbot John rose to stretch his cramped limbs. He looked out at
the greensward of the cloister, and at the graceful line of open
Gothic arches which skirted a covered walk for the brethren
within. Two and two in their black-and-white garb with slow step
and heads inclined, they paced round and round. Several of the
more studious had brought their illuminating work from the
scriptorium, and sat in the warm sunshine with their little
platters of pigments and packets of gold-leaf before them, their
shoulders rounded and their faces sunk low over the white sheets
of vellum.
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