"Well, they think your visions and the rest to be but delusions. And if they be delusions, why should not other matters be delusions too?"
"What matters?" asked Master Richard.
"Such matters as the tidings that you brought to the King."
"And what is it you would have me to do?" asked Master Richard again after a silence.
"It is only a little thing, poor lad—such a little thing! and then you will be able to go whither you will."
"And what is that little thing?"
"It is to tell me that you think them delusions too."
"But I do not think them so," said Master Richard.
"Think as you will then, Master Hermit; but, you know, when folks are sick we may tell them anything without sin. And the King is sick to death. I do not believe that you have bewitched him: you have too good a face and air for that—and for the matter of the paternoster I do not value it at a straw. The King is sick with agony at what he thinks will come upon him after your words. He will not listen to my lord cardinal: he sits silent and terrified, and has taken no food to-day. But if you will but tell him, Master Hermit, that you were mistaken in your tidings—that it was but a fancy, and that you know better now—all will be well with him and with you, and with us all who love you both."
So the clerk spoke, tempting him, and leaned back again on his heels; and Master Richard lay a great while silent.