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Exalted always felt enraged when the Parson quoted Scripture. He was the only man in the district who could beat him with a text, and somehow it seemed all wrong for a Royalist Alard, bred in France, to know more of Holy Writ than a godly Harman whose father and brother had both fought for the Parliament. He searched his mind to cap him now, but could find nothing at the moment. His hand reached out for the Bible that was always at his side, when suddenly Gervase recalled himself.

"Where's the poor little bud?"

"Run away, during your argument."

"But I would know if I've hurt the poor rogue."

"Nay, she an't hurt—only scared to have broken another platter. And she an't so little and young as you would make her. She was eighteen at Christmas."

"What, a woman already. I'd no idea of it."

"I thought as much by your address," said Exalted primly. "But she is a woman, and will most likely be married before her next birthday, to my ploughman, Lambert Relph."

"Why, it seems only a few years ago that I held her in my arms at the font and called her by the outlandish name you would give her, adding but the name Ruth for the dignity of the Church, and the integrity of the Sacrament."