"I had thoughts of Alberic de Blanchminster, in an Episode of the 'Founding of St. Hospital.'"

"Alberic de Blanchminster?"

They had reached the outer court of the hospital, and Brother Copas, halting to take snuff, eyed the Chaplain as if taking his measure.

"But the Committee, in compliment to my inches, are pressing me to take William the Conqueror," said Mr. Colt almost bashfully.

"I, too, should advise it, if we are to adhere to history; though, to be sure, from the sole mention of him in the chronicle, our founder Alberic appears to have been a sportsman. '_ Nam, quodam die, quia perdiderat accipitrem suum c.u.m erat sub divo, detrexit sibi bracas et posteriora nuda ostendit caelo in signum opprobrii et convitii atque derisionis._'--You remember the pa.s.sage?"

He paused mischievously, knowing well enough that the Chaplain would laugh, pretending to have followed the Latin. Sure enough, Mr. Colt laughed heartily.

"About William the Conqueror, though--"

But at this moment Corona came skipping through the archway.

"Uncle Copas!" she hailed, the vault echoing to her childish treble.

"You look as though you had mistaken Mr. Colt for a visitor, and were telling him all about the history of the place. Oh! I know that you never go the round with visitors; but seeing it's only me and Timmy-- look at him, please! He's been made a Beauchamp Brother, not half an hour ago. If only you'd be guide to us for once, and make him _feel_ his privileges. . . . I dare say Mr. Colt won't mind coming too," she wound up tactfully.

"Shall we?" suggested the Chaplain, after asking and receiving permission to inspect the doll.

"Confound it!" muttered Brother Copas to himself. "I cannot even begin to enjoy a fool nowadays but that blessed child happens along to rebuke me."

Aloud he said--

"If you command, little one. . . . But where do we begin?"

"At the beginning." Corona took charge of him with a nod at the Chaplain. "We're pilgrims, all four of us, home from the Holy Land; and we start by knocking up Brother Manby and just perishing for a drink."

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE PERVIGILIUM.

'Now learn ye to love who loved never--now ye who have loved, love anew!

It is Spring, it is chorussing Spring: 'tis the birthday of earth, and for you!

It is Spring; and the Loves and the birds wing together, and woo to accord Where the bough to the rain has unbraided her locks as a bride to her lord.

For she walks--She our Lady, our Mistress of Wedlock,--the woodlands atween, And the bride-bed she weaves them, with myrtle enlacing, with curtains of green.

Look, list ye the law of Dione, aloft and enthroned in the blue:-- Now learn ye to love who loved never--now ye who have loved, love anew!'

"H'm, h'm--tolerable only! '_Aloft and established in blue_'--is that better?"

"Uncle Copas, whatever are you doing?"

Corona looked up from her page of irregular verbs, and across to her preceptor as he sat muttering and scribbling.

"The idlest thing in the world, child. Translating."

"But you told me that next week, if I learned these verbs, you would let me begin to translate."

"To be sure I did. You must go on translating and translating until, like me, you ought to know better. Then you throw it all away."

"I suppose I shall understand, one of these fine days," sighed Corona. "But, uncle, you won't mind my asking a question? I really do want to find out about these things. . . . And I really do want to learn Latin, ever since you said it was the only way to find out all that St. Hospital means."

"Did I say that? I ought, of course, to have said that Latin was worth learning for its own sake."

"I guess," said Corona sagely, "you thought you'd take the likeliest way with me."

"O woman! woman! . . . But what was your question?"

"Sometimes I wake early and lie in bed thinking. I was thinking, only yesterday morning, if people are able to put into English all that was ever written in Latin, why don't they do it and save other people the trouble?"

"Now I suppose," said Brother Copas, "that in the United States of America--land of labour-saving appliances--that is just how it would strike everyone?"

He knew that this would nettle her. But, looking up hotly, she caught his smile and laughed.

"Well, but why?" she demanded.

"Because the more it was the same thing the more it would be different. There's only one way with Latin and Greek. You must let 'em penetrate: soak 'em into yourself, get 'em into your nature slowly, through the pores of the skin."

"It sounds like sitting in a bath."

"That's just it. It's a baptism first and a bath afterwards; but the more it's a bath, the more you remember it's a baptism."

"I guess you have that right, though I don't follow,"

Corona admitted. "There's _something_ in Latin makes you proud.

Only yesterday I was ga.s.sing to three girls about knowing _amo, amas, amat_; and, next thing, you'll say, 'I'd like you to know Ovid,' and I'll say,' Mr. Ovid, I'm pleased to have met you'--like what happens in the States when you shake hands with a professor. All the same, I don't see what there is in _amo, amas, amat_ to make the gas."

"Wait till you come to _cras amet qui nunquam amavit_."

"Is that what you were translating?"

"Yes."

"Then translate it for me, please."

"You shall construe for yourself. Cras means 'to-morrow.' _Amet_--"

"That's the present subjunctive. Let me see--'he may love.'"

"Try again."

"Or 'let him love.'"

"Right. 'To-morrow let him love.' _Qui?_"

"'Who.'"