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Charles was anxious to encourage Gervase along harmless paths of erudition.

"I've leisure indeed. Though I had meant to give the greater part of it to writing rather than reading. Brother" and his lean, black form towered importantly over Charles—"I've decided to write a treatise."

"For publication?"

"For what else? You remember my 'Sermons and Addresses on the Nature of God' that were published at Lewes, by Holt the bookseller?"

"I do not forget." Charles found himself automatically checking a yawn. "Did they bring you much money?"

"Money! Money! Why should they bring me money?" And Gervase cracked his fingers angrily. "I don't preach for money, nor write for money. I preach for fame, or rather for the praise of learned men."

"Which you've had, I trust."

"Aye, indeed. I had a letter from every Bishop, Dean and Doctor to whom I sent a copy. Even Canterbury wrote me through his chaplain that he was indebted to me—indebted, mind ye. I shall certainly, now I've the leisure, write another learned work. I shall write on the union of the English and Eastern Churches. But, brother"—his tone suddenly changing—"I like not my present room for writing in. It will do well enough to keep my books, but for writing and studying I would be more private—away from the trees."