It so fell out, how I knew not, whether I had shown me too presumptuous
for an apprentice, or because of any other reason, that Elliot had much
forborne my company, and was more often in church at her prayers than in
the house, or, when in the house, was busy in divers ways, and I scarce
ever could get word of her. Finding her in this mood, I also withdrew
within myself, and was both proud and sorely unhappy, longing more than
ever to take my own part in the world as a man-at-arms. Now, one day
right early, I being alone in the chamber, copying a psalter, Elliot came
in, looking for her father. I rose at her coming, doffing my cap, and
told her, in few words, that my master had gone forth. Thereon she
flitted about the chamber, looking at this and that, while I stood
silent, deeming that she used me in a sort scarce becoming my blood and
lineage.

Suddenly she said, without turning round, for she was standing by a table
gazing at the pictures in a Book of Hours--

"I have seen her!"

"The Pucelle?--do you speak of her, gentle maid?"

"I saw her and spoke to her, and heard her voice"; and here her own
broke, and I guessed that she was near to weeping. "I went up within the
castle precinct, to the tower Coudraye," she said, "for I knew that she
lodged hard by, with a good woman who dwells there. I passed into the
chapel of St. Martin on the cliff, and there heard the voice of one
praying before the image of Our Lady. The voice was even as you said
that day--the sweetest of voices. I knelt beside her, and prayed aloud
for her and for France. She rested her hand on my hair--her hair is