Montjoy had power, Montjoy had his own kind of popularity. He was thought a lord of his word and of generous notions, rather a godly lord. He had the gift of shy and subtle loving, and so he loved Middle Forest and it hurt him always when they differed.—Now what? He saw in a grim flash of cold, uncaring light, that his world was not going to have Saint Leofric’s miracles false.
No use saying anything—
He must even recover if he could its liking, must render harmless to himself Black Friar’s lightning.
What to say? How positively to lie? Excuse stuck in his throat. At last he managed to shout forth. “You know me, good folk. If I doubt, it is not Saint Leofric that I doubt!”
“Whom dost thou doubt? Prior Hugh, whose austerities, whose prayers and fastings brought the blessing? What dost thou doubt? That the woman who this morn was blind now sees?”
“That you cannot doubt, Lord of Montjoy!” said Somerville in a loud voice. “Sir Humphrey Somerville and I saw that wonder! The woman sees—praise Our Lady and Saint Leofric!”
Having cleared himself he found himself willing to aid in extricating Montjoy. Give him the prick of being aided! “The sun is strong to-day, and my lord Montjoy hath been long in saddle and is weary and half-sick! So for one instant, good friends, the devil had his ear! It is naught—he will shake the fiend off. Hurt him not by mistrusting him! Presently will you see him on pilgrimage himself to Saint Leofric’s!”
Montjoy, dry-voiced, tried to speak. He was dark red, his voice broke in his throat. Suddenly, sharply turning Black King, he touched him with his heel and rode from the market place. “See you, he is really a sick man!” cried Somerville and pushed his bay after him. Sir Humphrey followed, and Montjoy’s two serving men.
Middle Forest knew the lord of the castle for an encreasingly devout man. It could not even now see him as scoffer. Sir Robert Somerville, now, was much more like a scoffer than was Montjoy! For a moment folk hung in the wind, then the larger number agreed to give Montjoy the benefit of the doubt. Probably to-morrow he would come praising Saint Leofric! Envious Satan did attack each one in turn! The buzz and hum continued, but it left the key of anger. The Black Friar, having vindicated the right, climbed triumphantly the stair to the upper street.
On castle road where the Wander road diverged Montjoy abruptly said good night. His voice was moved, sonorous, thrilling with hurt pride. He seemed eager to leave them, to mount to his old castle that was not so large, not so threatening, after all!