“Ay, boy—thy mother.”
There was a long silence. Then the boy said timidly:—
“The maid said she might be light of love; ’tis a beautiful thought.”
The Prior started, and looked at him curiously:—
“What didst thou tell the maid?”
“That I never knew her, but that my father was a gentle knight who died ere I saw him; and then the maid said perchance my mother was light of love.”
“Boy,” said the Prior gravely, “’tis a weary tale, and sad of telling. Thy mother was wondrous fair without, but she reckoned love lightly, nay, knew it not for the holy thing it is, but thought only of bodily lusts. Pray for her soul”—his voice grew stern—“as for one of those upon whom God, in His great pity, may have mercy. Thus have I prayed these many years.”
Hilarius looked at him in wide-eyed horror:—
“She was evil, wicked, my mother?”
“Ay—a light woman, that was what the maid meant.”