‘To-morrow,’ she said, ‘we shall fast and sing _Placebo_ and _Dirige_ and the _Seven Penitential Psalms_. May the Holy God have mercy upon us for all we have done and said and thought amiss this night. Amen.’ Love and the Leper Woman The priest read the Office of the Mass to the village folk in the village church. Sir Gilbert knelt in his great pew, staring all about him, cracking walnuts between his strong white teeth and spitting the shells out on to the pavement. Now and then he stroked other fragments from his grey beard with his thick and dirty hand and coughed huskily to clear his throat. At the bench behind the pew knelt his squire, Philip of Gisburn. Philip was handsomely arrayed for the Holy Day in a rich green cloak embroidered with white and yellow daisies, in a doublet of purple velvet, scarlet hose and pyked shoes. His golden hair hung about his shoulders in thick locks, his complexion was white and red like a girl’s, his features delicately moulded, his eyes grey as glass, his eyebrows curved like a bow, his nose straight and small, his mouth firm and red. When he was asleep he might have been mistaken for a maid or an angel (God and wise men alone can tell the difference between these twain). Four old men were dozing on their knees behind him. Upon his left a dozen old women ceaselessly cackled scandal, occasionally interrupting with their smothered, raucous laughter the voice of the priest. Philip glanced towards the little group of impious females. A moist black eye peered laughingly at him from beneath a bright yellow head-dress. Alice, the Franklin’s daughter, was sitting at the end of her bench, across the aisle, upon the fringe of the group of withered gossips. She was without doubt a bonny creature, with eyes like sloes, lips like cherries, cheeks like peach blossom, and all else as one might wish. Philip returned her gaze with a roguish stare and then winked his left eye. The girl repressed laughter upon her lips and instantly dropped her eyes in devotion. After a while she raised her head again; her eyes shone and a blush overspread her face; she winked her right eye like lightning and dropped her head again. For five minutes Philip steadily regarded her through his fingers. She slowly looked up again and glanced half timidly and half impudently toward him. He met her eyes with a full gaze of meaning, pursed his lips together, and softly kissed the air towards her. She blushed crimson, but returned his salutation in a manner precisely similar. ‘_Deo Gratias_’ cried the priest. The Ordinary of the Holy Sacrament was at an end. * * * * * As Sir Gilbert and Philip rode homeward up the hill together they fell to talking. ‘Who was that bonny wench with the big black eyes?’ asked Sir Gilbert. ‘Marry, sir, I counted a good half-dozen black-eyed wenches in church.’