“Ah, holy mother,” said Margery, looking up, “can ye keep down by such means your evil hearts! I trow mine needeth more than that!”
“What mean you, fair sister?” inquired the Prioress.
“Nought less,” replied Margery, “than the blood of the Lamb slain, and the grace of Christ risen, have I yet found, that would avail to keep down an evil heart!”
“Of force, fair sister, of force!” said the Prioress, coldly, “that is as well as said.”
“Then I pray you, why said you it not?”
The Prioress rose. “I trust, fair sister,” said she, without giving any reply to Margery’s home question, “that you may see your error ere it be full late so to do.”
“I trust,” said Margery, as she followed her sister-in-law to the door, “that God will keep me in the true faith, whatsoever that be.”
“Amen!” said the Prioress, her long black robe sweeping the steps as she mounted her litter.
“Is she gone?” lisped little Geoffrey, when his mother returned. “Deff’y so glad! Deff’y don’t like her!”
That evening Margery received a message from her husband, bidding her meet him and Abbot Bilson in the oaken chamber, and bring the book with her. She took the book from the table on which Lord Marnell had thrown it—no need to hide it any longer now—kissed little Geoffrey’s sleeping forehead, as he lay in his cradle, and went down to the oaken chamber.