aid. "then you are no better than father christopher and

the rest of them. your own, your own, ever your own! my father

is the king's man, and when he rides into the press of fight he

is not thinking ever of the saving of his own poor body; he recks

little enough if he leave it on the field. why then should you,

who are soldiers of the spirit, be ever moping or hiding in cell

or in cave, with minds full of your own concerns, while the

world, which you should be mending, is going on its way, and

neither sees nor hears you? were ye all as thoughtless of your

own souls as the soldier is of his body, ye would be of more

avail to the souls of others."

"there is sooth in what you say, lady," alleyne answered; "and

yet i scarce can see what you would have the clergy and the

church to do."

"i would have them live as others and do men's work in the world,

preaching by their lives rather than their words. i would have

them come forth from their lonely places, mix with the borel

folks, feel the pains and the pleasures, the cares and the

rewards, the temptings and the stirrings of the common people.

let them toil and swinken, and labor, and plough the land, and

take wives to themselves----"

"alas! alas!" cried alleyne aghast, "you have surely sucked this

poison from the man wicliffe, of whom i have heard such evil

things."

"nay, i know him not. i have learned it by looking from my own

chamber window and marking these poor monks of the priory, their

weary life, their profitless round. i have asked myself if the

best which can be done with virtue is to shut it within high

walls as though it were some savage creature. if the good will

lock themselves up, and if the wicked will still wander free,

then alas for the world!"

alleyne looked at her in astonishment, for her cheek was flushed,

her eyes gleaming, and her whole pose full of eloquence and

conviction. yet in an instant she had changed again to her old

expression of merriment leavened with mischief.

"wilt do what i ask?" said she.

"what is it, lady?"

"oh, most ungallant clerk! a true knight would never have asked,

but would have vowed upon the instant. 'tis but to bear me out

in what i say to my father."

"in what?"

"in saying, if he ask, that it was south of the christchurch road

that i met you. i shall be shut up with the tire-women else, and

have a week of spindle and bodkin, when i would fain be galloping

troubadour up wilverly walk, or loosing little roland at the

vinney ridge herons."

"i shall not answer him if he ask."

"not answer! but he will have an answer. nay, but you must not

fail me, or it will go ill with me."

"but, lady," cried poor alleyne in great distress, "how can i say

that it was to the south of the road when i know well that it was

four miles to the north."

"you will not say it?"

"surely you will not, too, when you know that it is not so?"

"oh, i weary of your preaching!" she cried, and swept away with a

toss of her beautiful head, leaving alleyne as cast down and

ashamed as though he had himself proposed some infamous thing.

she was back again in an instant, however, in another of her

varying moods.

"look at that, my friend!" said she. "if you had been shut up in

abbey or in cell this day you could not have taught a wayward

maiden to abide by the truth. is it not so? what avail is the

shepherd if he leaves his sheep."

"a sorry shepherd!" said alleyne humbly. "but here is your noble

father."

"and you shall see how worthy a pupil i am. father, i am much

beholden to this young clerk, who was of service to me and helped

me this very morning in minstead woods, four miles to the north

of the christchurch road, where i had no call to be, you having

ordered it otherwise." all this she reeled off in a loud voice,

and then glanced with sidelong, questioning eyes at alleyne for

his approval.

sir nigel, who had entered the room with a silvery-haired old

lady upon his arm, stared aghast at this sudden outburst of

candor.

"maude, maude!" said he, shaking his head, "it is more hard for

me to gain obedience from you than from the ten score drunken

archers who followed me to guienne. yet, hush! little one, for

your fair lady-mother will be here anon, and there is no need

that she should know it. we will keep you from the provost-

marshal this journey. away to your chamber, sweeting, and keep a

blithe face, for she who confesses is shriven. and now, fair

mother," he continued, when his daughter had gone, "sit you here

by the fire, for your blood runs colder than it did. alleyne

edricson, i would have a word with you, for i would fain that you

should take service under me. and here in good time comes my

lady, without whose counsel it is not my wont to decide aught of

import; but, indeed, it was her own tho