He paused, gasping, his face working. From the step beside him sprang forth another voice, that of Father Edmund, master-preacher and scourge of the vices of the time. “Who alone, in all earth around us, would dare so to blacken the Mother of God, the Bride of Heaven? Have I not cried that she was never gone but hidden hereabouts--the harlot and sorceress, Morgen Fay!” Richard Englefield heard. He knew not the name or its associations, but his mind leaped fiercely upon it. Mind leapt like a famished wolf. Then, straight up from a dark well, rose memory of a chance-heard talk among the coarser sort, in the Brothers’ common room,--talk of Middle Forest from which one had come. That day he had risen and gone away and stopped his ears with work. So she was Morgen Fay, the harlot! Enormous commotion rose around him. There ran and jangled a multitude of voices. Impossible to Middle Forest to forego the present sensation! But the good and glory now flowing from Silver Cross! Equally impossible to question and forego that! Out of it all burst finally the great cry, “Is there no Blessed Well, no Cavern of Our Lady, no Rose in reliquary? But we know there are the healed! Here’s one was healed! The monk is mad!” Came like a bolt from Saint Ethelred’s porch one whom all knew,--Friar Martin, the Black Friar. He, too, stood on town cross steps,--and half Middle Forest was here! The Black Friar’s eyes gleamed and that which gleamed in them was love of the glory of Saint Leofric. Out poured the bull voice. “The healed? They will stay healed! They need not fear! Their faith in good made them--makes them whole! What! The stars are above the tavern lights! But here, verily, hath been tavern lights, pothouse lights. But healing! You shall not lack healing while stands Saint Leofric!” The place was grown like an angered hive. Father Edmund and Friar Martin were a pair to change bewilderment into passion. Father Edmund hunted sin calling itself Morgen Fay. The Black Friar had a pointing finger for the leper spot in Silver Cross. Middle Forest grew to sound of forest in tempest. So much swayed with Father Edmund, so much went with Saint Leofric over Silver Cross, so much beat against the two, asserting Silver Cross’s total innocence, save maybe for a monk’s deceit and madness! So many held purely for self and sought out the profit. Market place grew pandemonium. Out came a strong citizen voice, Master Eustace Bettany’s. “Have Brother Richard up to the castle! Let Montjoy hear!” It was a channel and brought relief of pouring into channel. Hands were upon the monk to urge him. “Montjoy! Yes, tell Montjoy!”