very urgently, and Margaret said, "If only dear
Helen could hear this"; and the Lady Beckwith said, "Helen is my other
daughter, and she lies abed, and may not come forth."

Then they put food before him; and they ate together, Margaret serving
him with meat and wine; and Paul would have forbidden it, but the Lady
Beckwith said, "That is the way of our house--and you are our guest and
must be content--for Margaret loves to serve you." The girl said little,
but as she moved about softly and deftly, with the fragrance of youth
about her, Paul had a desire to draw her to him, that made him ashamed
and ill at ease. So the hours sped swiftly. The maiden talked little,
but the Lady Beckwith had much matter for little speech; she asked Paul
many questions, and told him something of her own life, and how, while
the good Sir Harry, her husband, lived, she had been much with the
world, but now lived a quiet life, "Like a wrinkled apple-tree behind a
house," she added with a smile, "guarding my fruit, till it be plucked
from the bough." And she went on to say that though she had feared, when
she entered the quiet life, the days would hang heavy, yet there never
seemed time enough for all the small businesses that she was fain to do.

When the day began to fall, and the shadows of the trees out of the
forest began to draw nearer across the lawn, Paul rose and said, "Come,
I will sing you a song of farewell and thanks for this day of pleasure,"
and he made them a cheerful ditty; and so took his leave, the Lady
Beckwith saying that they would speak of his visit for many days--and
that she hoped that if his fancy led him again through the wood, he
would come to them; "For you will find an open door, and a warm hearth,
and friends who look for you." So Paul went, and walked through the low
red sunset with a secret joy in his heart; and never had he sung so
merrily as he sang that night in the hall of the Duke; so that the Duke
said smiling that they must often go a-hunting, and leave Sir Paul
behind, for that seemed to fill him to the brim with divine melody.

Now Paul that night, before he laid him down to sleep, stood awhile, and
made a prayer in his heart. It must be said that as a child he had
prayed night and morning, in simple words that Mistress Alison had
taught him, but in the years when he was with Mark the custom had died
away; for Mark prayed not, and indeed had almost an enmity to churches
and to priests, saying that they