“And I have not told you my name! I am called Catharine Lovel. I wish to tarry here for some days, if St. Florence does not forbid it.”
Martin looked grave.
“I never heard that St. Florence had set a boundary to his charity,” he said.
“Then I am the more his debtor in the spirit. This is so sweet and calm a place. I come from a forest country, Father Martin.”
“It is a very wonderful country,” he agreed.
“And should be pleasant to one who has been vowed to a month’s silence?”
Again Martin agreed with her. She stood at gaze, her hands clasped in front of her.
“One cannot lose oneself with this moor as a guide post. I shall ride out, Father Martin, and go down into the woods.”
“In the valley there the beech trees are very noble,” he said; “I love them.”
“Sometimes, Father Martin, trees are nobler than men.”