Part 81 (2/2)
”Nay.”
”The liver?”
”Nay.”
”The foul fiend?”
”Nay.”
”What then?”
”Love.”
”Love? stuff, impossible! She is but a child; she never stirs abroad unguarded. She never hath from a child.”
”All the better; then we shall not have far to look for him.”
”I trow not. I shall but command her to tell me the catiff's name, that hath by magic arts ensnared her young affections.”
”Oh, how foolish be the wise!” said Margaret; ”what, would ye go and put her on her guard? Nay, let us work by art first; and if that fails, then 'twill still be time for violence and folly.”
Margaret then with some difficulty prevailed on the mayor to take advantage of its being Sat.u.r.day, and pay all his people their salaries in his daughter's presence and hers.
It was done: some fifteen people entered the room, and received their pay with a kind word from their employer. Then Margaret, who had sat close to the patient all the time, rose and went out. The mayor followed her.
”Sir, how call you yon black haired lad?”
”That is Ulrich, my clerk.”
”Well then, 'tis he.”
”Now heaven forbid! a lad I took out of the streets.”
”Well, but your wors.h.i.+p is an understanding man. You took him not up without some merit of his.”
”Merit? not a jot. I liked the looks of the brat, that was all.”
”Was that no merit? He pleased the father's eye. And now he hath pleased the daughter's. That has oft been seen since Adam.”
”How know ye 'tis he?”
”I held her hand, and with my finger did lightly touch her wrist; and, when the others came and went, 'twas as if dogs and cats had fared in and out. But at this Ulrich's coming her pulse did leap, and her eyes s.h.i.+ne; and, when he went, she did sink back and sigh; and 'twas to be seen the sun had gone out of the room for her. Nay, burgomaster, look not on me so scared: no witch nor magician I, but a poor girl that hath been docile, and so bettered herself by a great neglected leech's art and learning. I tell ye all this hath been done before, thousands of years ere we were born. Now bide thou there till I come to thee, and prithee, prithee, spoil not good work wi' meddling.” She then went back and asked her patient for a lock of her hair.
”Take it,” said she, more listlessly than ever.
”Why, 'tis a la.s.s of marble. How long do you count to be like that, mistress?”
”Till I am in my grave, sweet Peggy.”
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