great story, how he was drawing every day to the priest's house, and
that the priest had a wish and a respect for him, a thing they could
not clear up at all.

That was true for them, indeed, for it was seldom the day went by
but Guleesh would go to the priest's house, and have a talk with
him, and as often as he would come he used to hope to find the young
lady well again, and with leave to speak; but, alas! she remained
dumb and silent, without relief or cure. Since she had no other
means of talking, she carried on a sort of conversation between
herself and himself, by moving her hand and fingers, winking her
eyes, opening and shutting her mouth, laughing or smiling, and a
thousand other signs, so that it was not long until they understood
each other very well. Guleesh was always thinking how he should send
her back to her father; but there was no one to go with her, and he
himself did not know what road to go, for he had never been out of
his own country before the night he brought her away with him. Nor
had the priest any better knowledge than he; but when Guleesh asked
him, he wrote three or four letters to the king of France, and gave
them to buyers and sellers of wares, who used to be going from place
to place across the sea; but they all went astray, and never a one
came to the king's hand.

This was the way they were for many months, and Guleesh was falling
deeper and deeper in love with her every day, and it was plain to
himself and the priest that she liked him. The boy feared greatly at
last, lest the king should really hear where his daughter was, and
take her back from himself, and he besought the priest to write no
more, but to leave the matter to God.