It happened by chance that Thomas the Freeman was in town to market the first morning when Master Benedict spoke, and having sold a couple of swine, he stood afterwards listening at the edge of the crowd round the Market Cross. At first he looked on unconcernedly, leaning heavily on his staff, as was his wont, and once or twice turning, as though to go home again. But Master Benedict began to warm to his preaching, crying out ‘Ah, Little Child, that criest from Thy Mother’s arms, shall we not hear Thee? Ah, little Babe, that bore such pangs for us in Thy tender flesh, shall we not suffer a little for Thee? Ah, little Holy Boy, Who gavest Thyself for us, shall we not give ourselves for Thee?’ and then Thomas, too, could not withdraw his eyes from the Monk’s passionate face, and as he gazed his breath came thick and fast through his lips, and the great tears began to roll down his cheeks, although he made no manner of outcry as most of the people did, sobbing and striking themselves in their grief, and even falling prostrate on the ground and heaping dirt and stones on their heads. As the Monk finished, several made oath and took the Cross, but Thomas only sighed and turned heavily homeward, without a word to any man. The next day, however, he came again to the preaching, and the next day also, and so every day until the end of the week, when Master Benedict departed to preach his mission in other villages. Then the Lord began to work mightily upon Thomas the Freeman. Now he entirely forsook his former and too secular habits and began to come most often to Church. Many a time I have seen him kneeling before the painted Christ with his head in his hands, bowing himself and quivering from head to foot, as though in agony of spirit; and the villeins, driving their teams afield in the first light of morning, have seen him hurrying on his way to early morrow mass, anon crying out and anon muttering to himself, like a man possessed. Now he worked little about the homestead and in the fields as he was wont to do, but wandered all alone in the forest on Hart Hill, and often forgetting to return even at meal-times. Now he spoke less than ever to Katherine his wife, and you might see in his face the terrible conflict betwixt duty and created pleasure which raged within him. Of a night, he played no more with the children nor dandled them on his knee, but sat with a perplexed brow, ever and anon calling upon God, Our Lady, and the Blessed Saints. When his wife asked what ailed him that he was not as he was wont to be, he answered, ‘The words of the man of God are eating out my heart.’ When his wife understood that, she burst into a loud cry, saying, ‘I would to God that Monk had never come to the village, for, but for him, I had been the happiest woman alive.’ Thomas groaned as if his heart would break. Then he said, ‘Let us pray that God will guide us even as it seemeth best to Himself.’