“Brother Bruno! You are unreasonable,” interposed Warner. “We all have our duties to our Lord and Lady. And as to that contemptible insect in the Lady’s chamber,—well, I do not know what you think, but I would not scorch my fingers pulling her out of Erebus.”
The dark brows of the young Jewess were drawn close together.
“Ah, Brother Warner!” said Bruno. “Christ my Master scorched His fingers so much with me, that I cannot hesitate to burn mine in His service.”
Marie and her arithmetic seemed forgotten by all parties.
“I am afraid, Brother Bruno,” faltered Father Nicholas, “really afraid, I may have been too remiss. The poor girl!—of course, though she is a Jew—and they are very bad people, very—yet she has a soul to be saved; yes, undoubtedly. I will see what I can do. There are only about a dozen leaves of the missal,—and then that treatise on grace of congruity that I promised the Abbot of Ham—and,—let me see! I believe I engaged to write something for the Prior of Saint Albans. What was it, now? Where are my tables? Oh, here!—yes,—ah! that would not take long: a week might do it, I think. I will see,—I really will see, Brother Bruno,—when these little matters are disposed of,—what I can do for the girl.”
“Do! Give her ratsbane!” sneered Warner laconically.
Bruno’s reply was a quotation.
“‘While thy servant was busy here and there, he was gone.’”
Then he rose and left the room.
“Dear, dear!” said Father Nicholas. “Our brother Bruno means well,—very well indeed, I am sure: but those enthusiastic people like him—don’t you think they are very unsettling, Brother Warner? Really, he has made me feel quite uncomfortable. Why, the world would have to be turned upside down! We could never write, nor paint, nor cultivate letters—we should have to be incessantly preaching and confessing people.”