“Oh, yes, plenteous! So had Hugh risk. But when the fish had once bitten no mortal man could get hook from its mouth!” “Meaning by the fish the people? Yes. But if Hugh and me and you, Matthew, be all three taken in mortal sin?” “Has he hurt Saint Leofric? Or Saint Dominic his Order? Or the folk whose bodies are healed? Does not glory go up to heaven like incense?” “It is true. If it be venial sin, then Our Lady, an altar of pure silver to thee!” “That will be well! It will still more beautify the church. But cease,” said Matthew, “to have this monk work at thy gold and silver! It goes not with kneeling and fasting all day and vigil at night, with great and sole visions and voices, and favour from the Saints!” “Very good. I will put him to his book and solitude.” The Prior took quill and drew upon a leaf of paper a plot of cells and passageways. “You will empty these five cells.” “Aye. They shall go back to dormitory.” “Door is to be here and door there. To get it done, while masons are upon it--and for other reasons as well--give your monk penance for some fault, sending him out of Silver Cross to Westforest. Let me have him for a month, no less.” “What will you do with him?” “I will indoctrinate him with expectancy.” “Do you know,” said Mark doubtfully, “he is one that might one day become true saint.” “Think you so? Well, I wish him innocent and believing--even as I hold Friar Paul across river may be innocent and believing!” “‘Innocent!’” The Abbot groaned. “But you and I and Hugh will not be innocent!” “No. We shall be wise and bold for the glory of our heritage. Choose--and choose now--which you will have!” The Abbot chose. The chess game went on. Outside the day folded in, fold on fold of white wool and grey wool, fog coming up from the sea. CHAPTER VII The fog wrapped the river. The bridge showed now a few arches and now none. Boats were moths in a moth dimness and silence. Saint Leofric’s mount across the water could not be seen. The walls of the houses on this side stood chill and grey, or faded away into a dream. The garden below barely lived, a wistful, faded place, no colour even to dream of colour. Morgen Fay hated the day. “Miserable! I want to go live in the sun!” “Will you have your book? Will you have your tapestry frame?” “No!” The large woman, Ailsa, shrugged and went to Tony in the warm kitchen. They talked there. “Now she is nightingale or moon in the sky--and now she is lion-woman or panther-woman--and now she is just a slut that I could whip--!” Up in the oak room Morgen Fay lay face down among the cushions of the long window seat. Ennui was in the room like the fog. It was in her veins, her mouth. “I am set face to a dead wall, and I shall be here forever! Unless the wall is broken and my feet are let to move, I will say that life is a naught, a nothing-wall restraining nothing from nothing, a dead grin on a dead face!”