This
was Aylingford Abbey, built for worship long ago, therefore worship
should be in it now. "We will be monks and nuns of the devil," some
genius in wickedness had cried one evening, and the suggestion had been
hailed with delight. This was their foundation, so they had called
themselves ever since, and Sir John Lanison delighted to be the "Abbot"
of such a community. They chose a sign whereby they might be known to
one another in the world--the slow tracing of a circle on the forehead
with the forefinger--and they bound themselves by an oath to their
master to love him and all his works, and to eschew all that was called
good. It had often been noticed how many persons of condition, who
seemed to be at one with Sir John in politics, had never been offered
the hospitality of Aylingford. The true reason had never been divulged.
If, as had chanced on one or two occasions, guests had been there who
knew nothing of these debaucheries, the devil's children present
dissembled, and affected to yawn over the dull entertainment provided by
Sir John. The secret of the Abbey had never leaked out, nor did it
appear that any man or woman, desirous of betraying it, had ever found
an entrance into the community.
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