"Ay so," admitted Isabel. "I am sorry for thee, Cousin!" whispered Maude, her eyes full of tears. "Sorry!" said Isabel. "Sorry!" repeated Avice. "When I have ensured mine own salvation, and won mine husband's soul from Purgatory, and heaped up great store of merit belike!--Woman, I live but of bread and water, with here and there a lettuce leaf; a draught of milk of Sundays, but meat never saving holydays. I sleep never beyond three hours of a night, and of a Friday night not at all. I creep round our chapel on my bare knees every Friday morrow and Saturday even, and do lick a cross in the dust at every shrine. I tell our Lady's litany morrow and even. Sorry! When every sister of our house doth reckon me a very saint!" A vision rose before Maude's eyes, of a man clad in blue fringes and phylacteries, who stood, head upright, in the Holy Place, and thanked God that he was not as other men. But she only said-- "O Avice!--what doth God reckon thee?" Isabel stared at her. "The like, of force!" said Avice, with a sneer. "Avice, I deemed thee once not far from the kingdom of God. But I find thee further off than of old time." "Thou art bereft of thy wits, sure!" said Avice, contemptuously. "By the Holy Coat of Treves, but this passeth!" [surpasses expectation or reason] exclaimed Isabel, looking decidedly astonished. "This world is no garden of pleasance, woman!" resumed Avice, harshly. "We must needs buy Heaven, and with heavy coin." "Buy thou it, an' thou canst," said Maude, rocking the child to and fro, while one or two tears fell upon its little frock. "For me, I thank our Lord that He hath paid down the price." She rose, for the child was beginning to cry, and walked to the window to try and engage its attention. "A Gospeller, by my troth!" whispered Isabel, with a shrug of her shoulders. "Maude was alway given unto Romaunts and the like fooling!" responded Avice as scornfully as before. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. An officer of the Bishop's Court, whose business was to carry to their destination written absolutions and indulgences. CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE ROUGH NIGHT WIND. "Whan cockle-shells ha'e siller bells, And mussels grow on every tree-- Whan frost and snaw shall warm us a'-- Then shall my luve prove true to me!" _Old Ballad_. It was the evening of the third day succeeding Isabel's visit, and while she and Avice were seated in the banquet-hall with the Governor and his family, the scene lit up by blazing pine torches, a single earthen lamp threw a dull and unsteady light over the silent bedchamber of the royal prisoner. The little Alianora was asleep in her cradle, and on the bed lay her mother, not asleep, but as still and silent as though she were. Near the cradle, on a settle, sat Maude Lyngern, trying with rather doubtful success to read by the flickering light.