Part 82 (1/2)
”Who knows? may be in ten minutes you will be altogether as hot.”
She ran into the shop, but speedily returned to the mayor and said, ”Good news! He fancies her and more than a little. Now how is't to be?
Will you marry your child, or bury her, for there is no third way, sith shame and love they do rend her virgin heart to death.”
The dignitary decided for the more cheerful rite, but not without a struggle; and, with its marks on his face, he accompanied Margaret to his daughter. But as men are seldom in a hurry to drink their wormwood, he stood silent. So Doctor Margaret said cheerfully, ”Mistress, your lock is gone, I have sold it.”
”And who was so mad as to buy such a thing?” inquired the young lady, scornfully.
”Oh, a black haired laddie wi' white teeth. They call him Ulrich.”
The pale face reddened directly--brow and all.
”Says he, 'Oh, sweet mistress, give it me.' I had told them all whose 'twas. 'Nay,' said I, 'selling is my livelihood, not giving.' So he offered me this, he offered me that, but nought less would I take than his next quarter's wages.”
”Cruel,” murmured the girl, scarce audibly.
”Why, you are in one tale with your father. Says he to me when I told him, 'Oh, an he loves her hair so well, 'tis odd but he loves the rest of her. Well,' quoth he, ”tis an honest lad, and a' shall have her, gien she will but leave her sulks and consent.' So, what say ye, mistress will you be married to Ulrich, or buried i' the kirkyard?”
”Father? father!”
”'Tis so, girl, speak thy mind.”
”I--will--obey--my father--in all things,” stammered the poor girl, trying hard to maintain the advantageous position in which Margaret had placed her. But nature, and the joy and surprise, were too strong even for a virgin's bashful cunning. She cast an eloquent look on them both, and sank at her father's knees, and begged his pardon, with many sobs for having doubted his tenderness.
He raised her in his arms, and took her, radiant through her tears with joy, and returning life, and filial love, to his breast; and the pair pa.s.sed a truly sacred moment, and the dignitary was as happy as he thought to be miserable: so hard is it for mortals to foresee. And they looked round for Margaret, but she had stolen away softly.
The young girl searched the house for her.
”Where is she hid? Where on earth is she?”
Where was she? why in her own house dressing meat for her two old children, and crying bitterly the while at the living picture of happiness she had just created.
”Well-a-day, the odds between her lot and mine; well-a-day!”
Next time she met the dignitary, he hemm'd and hawed, and remarked what a pity it was the law forbade him to pay her who had cured his daughter.
”However, when all is done, 'twas not art, 'twas but woman's wit.”
”Nought but that, burgomaster,” said Margaret, bitterly. ”Pay the men of art for not curing her: all the guerdon I seek, that cured her, is this; go not and give your foul linen away from me by way of thanks.”
”Why should I?” inquired he.
”Marry, because there be fools about ye will tell ye she that hath wit to cure dark diseases, cannot have wit to take dirt out o' rags; so pledge me your faith.”
The dignitary promised pompously, and felt all the patron.
Something must be done to fill ”to-morrow's box.” She hawked her initial letters and her illuminated vellums all about the town. Printing had by this time dealt caligraphy in black and white a terrible blow in Holland and Germany. But some copies of the printed books were usually illuminated and lettered. The printers offered Margaret prices for work in these two kinds.
”I'll think on't,” said she.