'We will go pray anon,' he quieted her, with his hand stretched out. 'Give me a space for meditation, I am not yet in the mood for prayer.'
She pleaded, 'Let me begone.'
'Body of God,' he said good-humouredly. 'It is fitting that at this time that you do pray. You have escaped a great peril. But I am wont to drive away earthly passions ere I come before the Throne of grace.'
'Sir,' she pleaded more urgently, 'the night draws near. Before morning I would be upon my road to Calais.'
He looked at her interestedly, and questioned in a peremptory voice:
'Upon what errand? I have heard of no journeying of yours.'
'I am not made for courts,' she repeated.
He said: 'Anan?' with a sudden, half-comprehending anger, and she quailed.
'I will get me gone to Calais,' she uttered. 'And then to a nunnery. I am not for this world.'
He uttered a tremendous: 'Body of God,' and repeated it four times.