The bright eyes lost their look of fear, and sparkled responsive.
The Bishop beckoned.
The little maid stole through the archway; then, gaining courage flew over the turf, and stood between the Bishop and the roses.
"How camest thou here, my little one?" questioned Symon of Worcester, in his softest tones.
"The big gate stood open, sir, and I ran in."
"And what is thy name, my little maid?"
"Verity," whispered the child, shyly, blushing to speak her own name.
"Ah," murmured the Bishop. "Hath Truth indeed come in at my open gate?"
Then, smiling into the little face lifted so confidingly to his: "Dost thou want something, Angel-child, that I can give thee?"
One little bare, brown foot rubbed itself nervously over the other.
Five little brown, bare toes wriggled themselves into the grass.