Sir John looked at him shrewdly.
“I called you fool,” he said, “but you are none except in looks. Do as you will, Jeffrey, but be swift. Stop. Where is my daughter?”
“The Lady Cicely sits in her parlour. I saw her sweet face at the window but now staring out at the snow as though she thought to see a ghost in it.”
“Um,” grunted Sir John, “the ghost she thinks to see rides a grand grey mare, stands over six feet high, has a jolly face, and a pair of arms well made for sword and shield, or to clip a girl in. Yet that ghost must be laid, Jeffrey.”
“Pity if so, master. Moreover, you may find it hard. Ghost-laying is a priest’s job, and when maids’ waists are willing, men’s arms reach far.”
“Be off, sirrah,” roared Sir John, and Jeffrey went.
Ten minutes later they were riding for the Abbey, three miles away, and within half-an-hour Sir John was knocking, not gently, at its gate, while the monks within ran to and fro like startled ants, for the times were rough, and they were not sure who threatened them. When they knew their visitor at last they set to work to unbar the great doors and let down the drawbridge, that had been hoist up at sunset.
Presently Sir John stood in the Abbot’s chamber, warming himself at the great fire, and behind him stood his serving-man, Jeffrey, carrying his long cloak. It was a fine room, with a noble roof of carved chestnut wood and stone walls hung with costly tapestry, whereon were worked scenes from the Scriptures. The floor was hid with rich carpets made of coloured Eastern wools. The furniture also was rich and foreign-looking, being inlaid with ivory and silver, while on the table stood a golden crucifix, a miracle of art, and upon an easel, so that the light from a hanging silver lamp fell on it, a life-sized picture of the Magdalene by some great Italian painter, turning her beauteous eyes to heaven and beating her fair breast.
Sir John looked about him and sniffed.
“Now, Jeffrey, would you think that you were in a monk’s cell or in some great dame’s bower? Hunt under the table, man; sure, you will find her lute and needlework. Whose portrait is that, think you?” and he pointed to the Magdalene.