Sir Godfrey Foljambe had not arrived at that point; he was in a condition less unhappy, but quite as perilous. To him the world had offered a fresh apple of Sodom, and he had grasped it as eagerly as the first. The prodigal son was in a better condition when he grew weary of the strange country, than while he was spending his substance on riotous living. Sir Godfrey had laid aside the riotous living, but he was not weary of the strange country. On the contrary, when he ran short of food, he tried the swine's husks, and found them very palatable-- decidedly preferable to going home. He put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter. The liberty wherewith Christ would have made him free was considered as a yoke of bondage, while the strong chains in which Satan held him were perfect freedom in his estimation. It was not with any hope that he would either understand or grant her request that Perrote made a last application to her lady's gaoler. It was only because she felt the matter of such supreme importance, the time so short, and the necessity so imperative, that no fault of hers should be a hindrance. Perhaps, too, down in those dim recesses of the human heart which lie so open to God, but scarcely read by man himself, there was a mustard-seed of faith--a faint "Who can tell?" which did not rise to hope--and certainly a love ready to endure all if it might gain its blessed end. "Sir," said Perrote, "I entreat a moment's speech of you." Sir Godfrey, who was sauntering under the trees in the garden, stopped and looked at her. Had he spoken out his thoughts, he would have said, "What on earth does this bothering old woman want?" As it was, he stood silent, and waited for her to proceed. "Sir, my Lady is full sick." "Well! let Father Jordan see her." "He hath seen her, Sir, and full little can he do." "What would you? No outer physician can be called in." "Ah, Sir, forgive me, but I am thinking rather of the soul than the body: it is the worser of the twain." "Verily, I guess not how, for she should be hard put to it to commit mortal sin, when mewed for eight years in one chamber. Howbeit, if so be, what then? Is not Father Jordan a priest? One priest is full as good as another." "Once more, forgive me, Sir! For the need that I behold, one priest is not as good as another. It is not a mass that my Lady needeth to be sung; it is counsel that she lacketh." "Then let Father Jordan counsel her." "Sir, he cannot." "Cannot! What for, trow? Hath he lost his wits or his tongue?" "No, he hath lost nothing, for that which he lacketh I count he never had, or so little thereof that it serveth not in this case. Man cannot sound a fathom with an inch-line. Sir, whether you conceive me or not, whether you allow me or no, I do most earnestly entreat you to suffer that my Lady may speak with one of the poor priests that go about in frieze coats bound with leather girdles. They have whereof to minister to her need."