As Papias says in the third distinction of the Elementarium,¹ chronicles can be described as narratives of times past,² or according to some other authority, chronicles can be called witnesses of time, explanations of truth, records of memory, messengers of antiquity. Therefore, after the task of composing chronicles was assigned to me, it was pleasing to recall some // , by chroniclers who held the responsibility of chronicles before me // adding accounts of subsequent times that *. For it is unjust that the unwritten miracles, which God has performed for the orthodox men of true holiness distinguished by manifold merit in the community of the Melrose monks, should be passed over. Therefore, first and foremost, I shall here weave anew the memory and name of a certain renowned monk of the same monastery. In the days of that venerable abbot of Melrose, Adam of Harcarse, there was another Adam, whom before /\ I have mentioned as the renowned monk, who was originally from the province of York. One day, when he was—not without some practical reason—in the orchard of the aforementioned monastery, he heard the first bell rung for the conventual Vespers³ and hurried at once to the church; but as he did so he saw from a distance that the open postern-door through which he had passed a little while earlier, now that he was returning, was closed in front of him and firmly locked with a bolt; and the great gate next to the postern was likewise locked with a very strong bar; and he had no idea at all what to do about the situation. And then, as he stood in front of the gate with his heart pounding, behold, suddenly the postern was divinely opened of its own accord, and he went out through it as he had wished. We may imagine from this episode that the one who was worthy enough to have the securely locked postern-door so readily unlocked for him by God entered the kingdom of heaven easily. O Blessed Lady of Heaven! I reckon that this little door was thrown open by you. This is the one reasonable explanation. For one day, as he was standing before you in front of the altar of St Stephen the proto-martyr, he was privileged to behold you. You were not directly on the ground, nor upon a wall or supported any other perishable matter. But as the man of God, your most devout admirer, reported, he saw you in the open and spacious body of the church, now in motion, now standing still before him, as it pleased you, clad in a most beautiful but delicate and seamless garment of the purest white. While he thought he could not be seen by anyone,