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Symon of Worcester, as with a Benedicite he graciously acknowledged it, suffered a slight twinge of conscience; almost as unusual an experience as the ebullition of temper. He took up the conversation exactly at that point to which it best suited him to return, namely, there where he had made the first false step.
Walking last in that silent procession back to the Nunnery, the Prioress walked alone with her sadness. Her heart was heavy indeed. She had angered her old friend, Symon of Worcester.
"Weel, it's neither your affair nor mine's," says the first. And they parted, the one upon his errand, and the other back into the house. This looked as ill as possible. I was scarce gone and they were sending already for James More, to whom I thought Mr. Symon must have pointed when he spoke of men in prison and ready to redeem their lives by all extremities.
"Here comes Colonel Morris," went on Twyford, still speaking to Symon. "One of us will have to tell him how the light went out. Will you?" But Symon still said nothing. He was standing as still as a statue, and looking steadily at the black velvet behind the glass screen. He was looking at the black velvet because there was nothing else to look at. St. Paul's Penny was gone.
"I suppose it would likely be King George," said I. "But it happens it was me!" he cried. "Not but it was printed by and for themselves, for the Grants and the Erskines, and yon thief of the black midnight, Symon Fraser. But could I win to get a copy? No! I was to go blindfold to my defence; I was to hear the charges for the first time in court alongst the jury." "Is not this against the law?"
Gossip Weldon has a funny, if lewd, story to tell of high jinks indulged in by the Monson women and Mrs Turner in which Symon, Monson's servant, played an odd part. This Symon was also employed by Mrs Turner to carry food to Overbury in the Tower. If the substitution story has any truth in it it might well have been a Monson girl who played the part of the Countess.
"Therefore, my son," concluded Symon of Worcester, "when on a sudden I remembered our conversation on the lawn, and that I had told you of my belief that the old lay-sister knew of your visit to the Convent and had seen you in Mora's cell, I hastened to send you a warning, lest you should, unwittingly, mention this fact to Mora, and raise a doubt in her mind concerning the genuineness of the vision, thus destroying her peace, and threatening her happiness and your own.
We drank here, also, the first new cider, which was very fine. It stood in the middle of what is now Fulton Street, near Lawrence Street. We proceeded on to Gouanes, a place so called, where we arrived in the evening at one of the best friends of Gerrit, named Symon. He was very glad to see us, and so was his wife. He took us into the house, and entertained us exceedingly well.
"Benedicite," said Symon of Worcester, looking up. "Deus," replied the Chaplain, making a profound obeisance. Then he stood erect a grim, austere figure, hard features, hollow eyes, half-shrouded within his cowl.
Peril of slavery, peril of shipwreck, peril of sword and shot, I had stood all of these without discredit; but the peril there was in the sharp voice and the fat face of Symon, properly Lord Lovat, daunted me wholly. I sat by the lake side in a place where the rushes went down into the water, and there steeped my wrists and laved my temples.
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