Now can any man tell what it is in folks that causeth other folks to fancy them? for I have oft-times been sorely pestered to find out. Truly, if man be very fair, or have full winning ways, and sweet words, and so forth, then may it be seen without difficulty. I never was puzzled to know why Sir Roger or any other should have fallen o' love with Queen Isabel. But what on earth could draw her to him, that puzzled me sore. He was not young--about ten years elder than she, and she was now a woman of thirty years. Nor was he over comely, as men go,--I have seen better-favoured men, and I have seen worser. Nor were his manners sweet and winning, but the very contrary thereof, for they were rough and rude even to women, he alway seemed to me the very incarnation of pride. Men charged Sir Hugh Le Despenser with pride, but Sir Roger de Mortimer was worse than he tenfold. One of his own sons called him the King of Folly: and though the charge came ill from his lips that brought it, yet was it true as truth could be. His pride showed every where--in his dress, in the way he bore himself, in his words,--yea, in the very tones of his voice. And his temper was furious as ever I saw. Verily, he was one of the least lovesome men that I knew in all my life: yet for him, the fairest lady of that age bewrayed her own soul, and sold the noblest gentleman to the death. Truly, men and women be strange gear! I had written thus far when I laid down my pen, and fell a-meditating, on the strangeness of such things as folks be and do in this world. And as I there sat, I was aware of Father Philip in the chamber, that had come in softly and unheard of me, so lost in thought was I. He smiled when I looked up on him. "How goeth the chronicle, my daughter?" saith he. "Diversely, Father," I made answer. "Some days my pen will run apace, but on others it laggeth like oxen at plough when the ground is heavy with rain." "The ground was full heavy when I entered," saith he, "for the plough was standing still." I laughed. "So it was, trow. But I do not think I was idle, Father; I was but meditating." "Wise meditations, that be fruitful in good works, be far away from idlesse," quoth he. "And on what wert thou thinking thus busily, my daughter?" "On the strange ways of men and women, Father." "Did the list include Dame Cicely de Chaucombe?" saith Father Philip, with one of his quiet smiles. "No," I made answer. "I had not reached her." "Or Philip de Edyngdon? Perchance thou hadst not reached him." "Why, Father, I might never think of sitting in judgment on you. No, I was thinking of some I had wist long ago: and in especial of Dame Isabel the Queen, and other that were about her. What is it moveth folks to love one another, or to hate belike?" "There be but three things can move thee to aught, my daughter: God, Satan, and thine own human heart." "And my conscience?" said I.