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Updated: June 22, 2025
"My dove that God sped down from Heaven unto me, thinking me not too ill ne wicked to have thee! The angels may love thee, my bird in bower! for thou art white and unwemmed. And I must meet Him and soon." "Did not God die on the rood, Mother?" The woman assented, the old listless tone returning to her voice. "Wherefore, Mother?" "God wot, child."
"An' it like you, Madam, you must arise and come with me," said the Sheriff bluntly, as Maude bent over the sufferer. Then, with a low moan, she sank on her knees by the bedside, and a cry which was not all bitterness broke from her. "`And thus hath Christ unwemmed kept Custance'!" "What matter, wife?" said Bertram in a tone of sudden apprehension.
Maude would never have suspected the Dowager of the least respect for poetry; and she was surprised to watch her sit by the open casement, dreamily looking out on the landscape, while she read to her of the "white ycrowned Queen" of the Daisy, or of the providential interpositions by which "Crist unwemmed kept Custance," or oftener yet "But what visage had she thereto?
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