he loveliness of holy church. Now, son, shall the tales of
such women, old and young, weigh in thy mind beside the word I tell
thee of what I have seen and know concerning this most excellent of
ladies? I trow not. And for my part I tell thee, that though she is
verily as fair as Venus (God save us) yet is she as chaste as Agnes, as
wise as Katherine, and as humble and meek as Dorothy. She bestoweth
her goods plentifully to the church, and is merciful to poor men
therewith; and so far as occasion may serve her she is constant at the
Holy Office; neither doth she spare to confess her sins, and to do all
penance which is bidden her, yea and more. For though I cannot say to
my knowledge that she weareth a hair; yet once and again have I seen
her wending this woodland toward the chapel of her friend St. Anthony
by night and cloud, so that few might see her, obedient to the
Scripture which sayeth, 'Let not thy right hand know what thy left hand
doeth,' and she barefoot in her smock amidst the rugged wood, and so
arrayed fairer than any queen in a golden gown. Yea, as fair as the
woodwives of the ancient heathen."

Therewith the priest stayed his words, and seemed as if he were fallen
into a dream; and he sighed heavily. But Ralph walked on by his
bridle-rein dreamy no less; for the words that he had heard he heeded
not, save as they made pictures for him of the ways of that woman of
the forest.

So they went on soberly till the priest lifted up his head and looked
about like one come out of slumber, and said in a firm voice: "I tell
thee, my son, that thou mayest set thy love upon her without sin." And
therewith suddenly he fell a-weeping; and Ralph was ill at ease of his
weeping, and went along by him saying nought; till the priest plucked
up heart again, and said, turning to Ralph, but not meeting his eye:
"My son, I weep because men and women are so evil, and mis-say each
other so sorely, even as they do by this holy woman." As he spake his
tears brake out again, and Ralph strode on fast, so as to outgo him,
thinking it unmannerly to seem as if he noted not his sorrow; yet
withal unable to say aught to him thereof. Moreover it irked him to
hear a grown man weeping for grief, even though it were but a priest.

Within a while the priest caught up with him, his tears all staunched,
and fell to talk with him cheerfully concerning the wood, and the
Little Land and the dwellers therein and the conditions of them, a