Few came beyond the open booth, which served as shop, though
sometimes there would be admitted to walk in the garden and converse
with Master Groot, a young Englishman who wanted his counsel on
giving permanence and clearness to the ink he was using in that new
art of printing which he was trying to perfect, but which there were
some who averred to be a work of the Evil One, imparted to the
magician Dr. Faustus.
CHAPTER XXIV--GRISELL'S PATIENCE
When silent were both voice and chords,
The strain seemed doubly dear,
Yet sad as sweet,--for English words
Had fallen upon the ear.
WORDSWORTH, Incident at Bruges.
Meanwhile Leonard was recovering and vexing himself as to his future
course, inclining chiefly to making his way back to Wearmouth to
ascertain how matters were going in England.
One afternoon, however, as he sat close to thine window, while
Grisell sang to him one of her sweet old ballads, a face, attracted
by the English words and voice, was turned up to him. He exclaimed,
"By St. Mary, Philip Scrope," and starting up, began to feel for the
stick which he still needed.
A voice was almost at the same moment heard from the outer shop
inquiring in halting French, "Did I see the face of the Beau Sire
Leonard Copeland?"
By the time Leonard had hobbled to the door into the booth, a tall
perfectly-equipped man-at-arms, in velvet bonnet with the Burgundian
Cross, bright cuirass, rich crimson surcoat, and handsome sword belt,
had advanced, and the two embraced as old friends did embrace in the
middle ages, especially when each had believed the other dead.
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