'I am a sinner like you. A child of God. He knows the heart and soul. Do continue.'

'Brother, I wish to commit murder!'

Athelstan nearly fell off his chair.

'I really do! I want to kill a woman, take a knife and drive it into her heart!'

'That is just anger.'

'No, I will do it! I swear by God I will do it!' 'Hush now!' Athelstan retorted. 'This is a sacrament in God's house. Can I pull back the curtains?' 'There's no need to, Brother.'

The young woman came round the screen and knelt before him. 'Why, it's Eleanor!'

Athelstan grasped her hands and gazed into the thin but very beautiful face of Basil the blacksmith's eldest daughter, a pale young woman with hair red as fire and the most magnificent green eyes Athelstan had ever seen. A shy girl but strong-willed, Eleanor always reminded Athelstan of what an angel must be: beautiful, modest with a dry sense of humour.

'Eleanor,' he pleaded. 'What is the matter?'

'Brother, I am in love.'

'You wouldn't think it.'

'No, Brother, I truly am. I deeply love…' She smiled.

'This is a secret?' Athelstan asked.

'Well, we've been very…' 'Discreet?'

'What does that mean, Brother?' 'Well, secretive, but not sly,' Athelstan added hastily.

A dreamy look came into the young woman's eyes. 'Its Oswald Fitz-Joscelyn.'

Athelstan recalled the eldest son of the owner of the Piebald tavern, his parishioners' favourite drinking-place.

'I truly love him, Brother.'

'How old are you, Eleanor?'

The young woman closed her eyes. 'This will be my eighteenth yuletide, or so Mother says.' 'And Oswald?'

'He loves me too, Brother, more than anything in the world! He bought me,' she touched the locket on a bronze chain round her neck, 'he bought me this on the Feast of the Assumption: Oswald said when he was with me, he felt as if he had been taken up into heaven.'