"Good father, I think and dream of—red roses!"
Friar Martin cut and trimmed a leek with great care, yet surely here was no reason for his eyes to twinkle within the shadow of his white cowl.
"A sweet and fragrant thought, my son!" quoth he.
"As sweet, methinks, holy father, as pure and fragrant as she herself!"
"'She,' my son?"
"As Helen, good friar, as Helen the Beautiful, Duchess of Mortain!"
"Ah!" sighed the friar, and forthwith popped the leek into the pot. "I prithee, noble son, reach me the salt-box yonder!"
CHAPTER LXVI
CONCERNING A BLUE CAMLET CLOAK
Next morning, ere the sun was up, came Beltane into the minster and hiding within the deeper gloom of the choir, sat there hushing his breath to listen, trembling in eager anticipation. Slowly amid the dimness above came a glimmer from the great window, a pale beam that grew with dawn until up rose the sun and the window glowed in many-hued splendour.