“It seemeth to me small wonder that Brother Ambrose fell sick,” she said, at length.
Hilarius nodded:
“He had ever a patient, wistful look as of one from home; and often he would sit musing in the cloister and scarce give heed to the Office bell.”
“Methinks, Hilarius, it will be passing sweet to dwell in that Holy City.”
“Nay, lady,” said her page tenderly, “surely thou hast had a vision even as Brother Ambrose, for thine eyes wait always, like unto his.”
Eleanor shook her head, and two tears crept slowly from the shadow of her eyes.
“Nay, not to such as I am is the vision vouchsafed; though my desire is great, ’tis ever clogged by sin; and for this same reason I would get me to a cloister where I might fast and pray unhindered.”
Hilarius looked at her with great compassion.
“Sweet lady, the Lord fulfil all thy desires; yet, methinks, thou art already as one of His saints.”
“Nay, but a poor sinner in an evil world,” she answered. “Sing to me, Hilarius.”