A room in a feudal castle in England. A Man and a Maiden dressed as servants of the time (1215) are standing near an open casket. The Man holds an illuminated book in his hand. The Maiden is peering over his shoulder at the beautiful decorations. At her feet lies her distaff. The light burns dimly above. Some humble stools, and two high-backed chairs covered with gorgeous tapestry are the only furnishings.
Maiden. Oh, how lovely! I could look at the gay colors for years and never tire!
Man. And I would give years of my life if I could but read the writing in the book.
Maiden (clutching his arm in terror). Oh, say not so! The very walls have ears! If it were known that thou didst entertain an ambition so high above thy station, it would mean, at least, the stocks.
Man. I care not. Why should this book and all the learning of the sages be closed to me because I was born in a hovel, and opened to my master just because he chanced to be born in a castle? I tell thee it is not fair! I—
Enter the Lady Edyth. The Maiden, who first sees her, covers the Man’s mouth with her hand, so staying him and preventing the Lady Edyth’s hearing his words. She, however, sees the open casket, and the precious book in the hands of the servant, and sweeps angrily forward.
Lady Edyth. How now, sirrah; what dost thou with the precious book?
Man (humbly). I but looked at it, my lady.
Lady Edyth (snatching it from his hand). Thou “but looked at it”! Thinkst thou such a book was made for a boor like thee to look at, let alone to handle with thy great rude hands? How durst thou even open the casket? I have a mind to have thee flogged.
Maiden (falling on her knees). Nay, my lady, spare him, I pray thee! The fault is wholly mine. I opened the casket. I placed the book in his hands. I—