only those
matters wherein thyself was interested."

"But that, Jack," said I, laughing as I looked up on him, "shall be the
`Annals of Cicely' over again; wherewith I thought thou wert not
compatient." [Pleased, satisfied; the adjective of compassion.]

"Nay, the Annals of Cicely were Cicely's fancies and feelings," he made
answer: "this should be what Cicely heard and saw."

I sat and meditated thereon.

"And afore thou wear thy fingers to the bone with thy much scribing,"
saith he, with that manner of smile of his eyes which Jack hath, "call
thou Father Philip to write at thy mouth, good wife."

"Nay, verily!" quoth I. "I would be loth to call off Father Philip from
his godly meditations, though I cast no doubt he were both fairer scribe
and better chronicler than I."

To speak sooth, it was Father Philip learned me to write, and the master
should be better than the scholar. I marvel more that have leisure
learn not to write. Jack cannot, nor my mother, and this it was that
made my said mother desirous to have me taught, for she said, had she
wist the same, she could have kept a rare chronicle when she dwelt at
the Court, and sith my life was like to be there also, she would fain
have me able to do so. I prayed Father Philip to learn my discreet
Alice, for I could trust her not to make an ill use thereof; but I
feared to trust my giddy little Vivien with such edged tools as Jack
saith pen and ink be. And in very sooth it were a dread thing if any
amongst us should be entrapped into intelligence with the King's
enemies, or such treasonable matter; and of this are wise men ever
afeared, when their wives or daughters learn to write. For me, I were
little feared of such matter as that: and should rather have feared (for
such as Vivien) the secret scribing of love-letters to unworthy persons.
Howbeit, Jack is wiser than I, and he saith it were dangerous to put
such power into the hands of most men and women.

Lo! here again am I falling into the Annals of Cicely. Have back, Dame
Cicely, an' it like you. Methinks I had best win back: yet how shall I
get out of the said Annals, and forward on my journey, when the very
next thing that standeth to be writ is mine own marriage?

It was on the morrow of the Epiphany, 1320, that I was wedded to my Jack
in the Chapel of York Castle. I have not set down the inwards of my
love-tale, nor shall I, for good cause; for then should I not only fall
into the Annals of C