Leaning back in his chair, he looked now at her and now at the fire. “Priest against priest! Father Edwin dead. Seek afield. None at the Carmelites, no! Saint Leofric gives no help. Silver Cross—”
“Oh, Abbot Mark must trot his mule beside Zeal-for-goodness! Not else can he keep apace with the time!” Morgen Fay burst into laughter. She laughed, and then she sat silent with her head bowed upon the settle’s arm.
“If he preaches—Father Edmund—at town cross, best were it that you disappear.”
“Lock house against better days and vanish—aye, where?”
“There’s many a place.”
“Aye, far away. I do not will to go far away. May not I have true love beside all the untrue?”
“Poor wretch! It is nigh smothered!” said Somerville and laughed; after which he sat in silence and all manner of odd and mocking lights played in his face. “Well, disappear up Wander!”
“How far up?”
“Well, not as far as Somerville Hall. That may not be. But there is the ruined farm that bears toward Silver Cross. Put on country dress and darken your face, and David and his wife who live there will take you in—Alice or Joan. I will speak to them. You may bide there until we are less good.”