"
"This is a hard saying," said Sir John; "for indeed I have seen no
bolder better bird. Her wing was broken by a heron's beak last
Sabbath sennight, holy father, and Mary has the mending of it."
"I trust, my son, that you had heard mass ere you turned to
worldly pleasure upon God's holy day," Father Matthew answered.
"Tut, tut!" said the old knight, laughing. "Shall I make
confession at the head of my own table? I can worship the good
God amongst his own works, the woods and the fields, better than
in yon pile of stone and wood. But I call to mind a charm for a
wounded hawk which was taught me by the fowler of Gaston de Foix.
How did it run? `The lion of the Tribe of Judah, the root of
David, has conquered.' Yes, those were the words to be said three
times as you walk round the perch where the bird is mewed."
The old priest shook his head. "Nay, these charms are tricks of
the Devil," said he. "Holy Church lends them no countenance, for
they are neither good nor fair. But how is it now with your
tapestry, Lady Mary? When last I was beneath this roof you had
half done in five fair colors the story of Theseus and Ariadne."
"It is half done still, holy father."
"How is this, my daughter? Have you then so many calls?"
"Nay, holy father, her thoughts are otherwhere," Sir John
answered. "She will sit an hour at a time, the needle in her hand
and her soul a hundred leagues from Cosford House.
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