Part 81 (1/2)
”Nay, I knew it not till you did tell me. I trow you would be better for a little good company.”
”I trow not. What is their silly chat to me?”
Here Margaret requested the father to leave them alone: and in his absence put some practical questions. Then she reflected.
”When you wake i' the morning you find yourself quiver, as one may say?”
”Nay. Ay. How knew you that?”
”Shall I dose you, or shall I but tease you a bit with my 'silly chat'?”
”Which you will.”
”Then I will tell you a story. 'Tis about two true lovers.”
”I hate to hear of lovers,” said the girl; ”nevertheless canst tell me, 'twill be less nauseous than your physic--maybe.”
Margaret then told her a love story. The maiden was a girl called Ursel, and the youth one Conrad; she an old physician's daughter, he the son of a hosier at Tergou. She told their adventures, their troubles, their sad condition. She told it from the female point of view, and in a sweet and winning and earnest voice, that by degrees soon laid hold of this sullen heart, and held it breathless; and when she broke it off her patient was much disappointed.
”Nay, nay, I must hear the end. I will hear it.”
”Ye cannot, for I know it not; none knoweth that but G.o.d.”
”Ah, your Ursel was a jewel of worth,” said the girl earnestly. ”Would she were here.”
”Instead of her that is here.”
”I say not that;” and she blushed a little.
”You do but think it.”
”Thought is free. Whether or no, an she were here, I'd give her a buss, poor thing.”
”Then give it me, for I am she.”
”Nay, nay, that I'll be sworn y' are not.”
”Say not so; in very truth I am she. And prithee, sweet mistress, go not from your word, but give me the buss ye promised me, and with a good heart, for oh, my own heart lies heavy: heavy as thine, sweet mistress.”
The young gentlewoman rose and put her arms round Margaret's neck and kissed her. ”I am woe for you,” she sighed. ”You are a good soul; you have done me good--a little.” (A gulp came in her throat.) ”Come again!
come often!”
Margaret did come again, and talked with her, and gently, but keenly, watched what topics interested her, and found there was but one. Then she said to the mayor, ”I know your daughter's trouble, and 'tis curable.”
”What is't? the blood?”
”Nay.”
”The stomach?”