“How am I to send to him, trow?” growled the custodian. “I wis not where he is.”
“A messenger could find out the Court, Sir,” answered Perrote. “And it would comfort her last days if he came.”
“And if he refused?”
Perrote’s dark eyes flashed fire.
“Then may God have mercy on him!—if He have any mercy for such a heartless wretch as he should so be.”
“Keep a civil tongue in your head, Perrote de Carhaix,” said Sir Godfrey, beginning to ascend the upper stair. “You see, your poor priests are no good. You’d better be quiet.”
Perrote stood still, candle in hand, till he disappeared.
“I will be silent towards man,” she said, in a low voice; “but I will pour out mine heart as water before the face of the Lord. The road toward Heaven is alway open: and they whom men beat back and tread down are the most like to win ear of Him. Make no tarrying, O my God!”