“Peace, or you may have no tongue to boast of.”
The insolence went out of her, and she cringed and slunk away.
“I meant nothing, good father; but that fool there is my man, and I’ll not see him filched from me.”
“Peace!”
John Ball had sat through the squabble with the look of a man whose soul was elsewhere. He turned his head slowly and stared at Father Merlin.
“My brother, what shall be done?”
The Franciscan sneered.
“Leave it to me, Brother John. I will go out to-morrow—to hear confessions.”
CHAPTER V
Father Merlin set out betimes on a fine spring morning, a hunch of bread in his wallet and his beads hanging down over his grey frock.