“No. ’Tis too far to journey here and back in one day. Especially on a horse so old as mine. And I promised when last in Oxford to call on Master Wyclif and tell him of the resolution of events in Bampton.”
“Then if you can return tomorrow I will have a fresh pot of ink prepared for you.”
I promised to do so, and an awkward silence followed. Kate finally spoke.
“I must return to my work,” she smiled. “But the task will be done tomorrow when you call.”
She left the room and her father and I were left staring at each other. A moment of boldness came over me. Kate could do that to a man. “Sir, I would like to pay court to your daughter…if you approve.”
“I do,” he replied softly. “And so, I think, does Kate.”
I bid the stationer good day, promised to return next day for parchment and ink, and set off for Canterbury Hall with light feet and lighter heart.
The porter remembered me and readily granted me the freedom of the college. Autumn days grew short. ’Twas dark enough that I could see a cresset glow from Wyclif’s window as I approached his chamber. I rapped upon his door and, as before, heard a bench grate upon the flags. I expected to see a book open upon his desk, the flame lighting his study. But not so. Master John opened the door, saw ’twas me, turned to his barren table and spoke.
“Master Hugh…you are well met. I was about to send for you. They’ve stolen my books.”
