"You know my name? How is that?"

"White magic. I am a--witch."

"Angels are never witches. But I can't think how you--"

"Foolish boy! was it not cried at the gate loud enough to deave one?"

"So it was. Where is my head? What do I admire most? If you will sit a
little more that way, I'll tell you."

"This way?"

"Yes; so that the light may fall on you. There! I see many fair things
here, fairer than I could have conceived; but the fairest of all, to
my eye, is your lovely hair in its silver frame, and the setting sun
kissing it. It minds me of what the Vulgate praises for beauty, 'an
apple of gold in a network of silver,' and oh, what a pity I did not
know you before I sent in my poor endeavours at illuminating! I could
illuminate so much better now. I could do everything better. There, now
the sun is full on it, it is like an aureole. So our Lady looked, and
none since her until to-day."

"Oh, fie! it is wicked to talk so. Compare a poor, coarse-favoured girl
like me with the Queen of Heaven? Oh, Gerard! I thought you were a good
young man." And Margaret was shocked apparently.

Gerard tried to explain. "I am no worse than the rest; but how can I
help having eyes, and a heart Margaret!"