"Yes!" she answered loyally and put her head on his shoulder.
"You've done that so many times, and yet you have never asked me anything about their nature. Somehow you seem to know they should not stay exposed, for the random eye to see!"
"It's not my privilege to question what you do, or why you do it. My place is here, at your feet, my love!" she told him in a voice that assured him of her potent and loyal love.
Brook kissed her hand.
"No, my love! Your place is not at my feet, but at my side. Even so, my place is your place. It has always been and always will be. I love you, Dearborne!"
"And I love you, my dearest Brook!" she responded and his trembling heart was calmed by the tranquillizing inflections in her song-like voice.
An hour passed by as they sat together. Dearborne was on Brook's lap. Neither one said very much of anything to the other. Only in touches, kisses and embraces, and the volumes of thought that passed between them, did they say anything.
They kissed each other again and she turned her body to converse with him more directly. She told him that the ArchBishop sent a messenger earlier in the morning before he was awake, with a request that she would try to get him to the Cathedral, to speak with him.
"The ArchBishop," she told him, "wonders why you haven't answered his calls to a conference, earlier. It's been weeks since he asked you to the cathedral. This morning he sent word, to me, to persuade you to see him."
Brook instantly became disturbed and let her off his lap. He stood up and slowly walked over to the window. After a few moments of silence he turned to her and in a loud, angry, voice spoke his mind.