Part 18 (2/2)
”My Lady knows I shall never do that,” was the quiet reply. ”Dame, my Lady Foljambe entreats of your Ladys.h.i.+p leave that Amphillis here shall lie in your pallet until she return.”
”Doth she so?” answered the Countess, with a curt laugh. ”My Lady Foljambe is vastly pleasant, trow. Asking her caged bird's leave to set another bird in the cage! Well, little brown nightingale, what sayest?
Art feared lest the old eagle bite, or canst trust the hooked beak for a week or twain?”
”Dame, an' it please you, I am in no wise feared of your Grace.”
”Well said. Not that thou shouldst make much difference. Had I a mind to fight for the door or the window, I could soon be quit of such a white-faced chit as thou. Ah me! to what end? That time is by, for me.
Well! so they went off in grand array? I saw them. If G.o.dfrey Foljambe buy his wife a new quirle, and his daughter-in-law a new gown, every time they cry for it, he shall be at the end of his purse ere my cus.h.i.+on yonder be finished broidering. Lack-a-day! I would one of you would make an end thereof. I am aweary of the whole thing. Green and tawny and red--red and tawny and green; tent-st.i.tch down here, and satin-st.i.tch up yonder. And what good when done? There's a cus.h.i.+on-cover more in the world; that is all. Would G.o.d--ah, would G.o.d, from the bottom of mine heart, that there were but one weary woman less!”
”My dear Lady!” said Perrote, sympathisingly.
”Ay, old woman, I know. Thou wouldst fain ask, Whither should I go? I know little, verily, and care less. Only let me lie down and sleep for ever, and forget everything--I ask but so much. I think G.o.d might let me have that. One has to wake ever, here, to another dreary day. If man might but sleep and not wake! or--ah, if man could blot out thirty years, and I sit once more in my mail on my Feraunt at the gate of Hennebon! Dreams, dreams, all empty dreams! Come, child, and lay by this wimple. 'Tis man's duty to hie him abed now. Let's do our duty.
'Tis all man has left to me--leave to do as I am bidden. What was that bruit I heard without, an half-hour gone?”
Amphillis, in answer, for Perrote was unable to speak, told the story of Agatha's mischievous trick. The Countess laughed.
”'Tis right the thing I should have done myself, as a young maid,” said she. ”Ay, I loved dearly to make lordly, sober folks look foolish.
Poor Father Jordan, howbeit, was scarce fit game for her crossbow. If she had brought Avena Foljambe down, I'd have given her a clap on the back. Now, maid, let us see how thou canst braid up this old white hair for the pillow. It was jet black once, and fell right to my feet. I little thought, then--I little thought!”
The _coucher_ accomplished, the Countess lay down in her bed; Perrote took leave of her, and put out the light, admonis.h.i.+ng Amphillis to be quick. Then she left the room, locking the door after her.
”There!” said the voice of the Countess through the darkness. ”Now then we are prisoners, thou and I. How doth it like thee?”
”It liketh me well, Dame, if so I may serve your Grace.”
”Well said! Thou shalt be meet for the Court ere long. But, child, thou hast not borne years of it, as I have: sixteen years with a hope of release, and eight with none. Tell me thy history: I have no list to sleep, and it shall pa.s.s the time.”
”If it may please your Grace, I reckon I have had none.”
”Thou wert best thank the saints for that. Yet I count 'tis scarce thus. Didst grow like a mushroom?”
”Truly, no, Dame,” said Amphillis, with a little laugh. ”But I fear it should ill repay your Grace to hear that I fed chickens and milked cows, and baked patties of divers sorts.”
”It should well repay me. It were a change from blue silk and yellow twist, and one endless view from the window. Fare forth!”
Thus bidden, Amphillis told her story as she lay in the pallet, uninterrupted save now and then by a laugh or a word of comment. It was not much of a story, as she had said; but she was glad if it amused the royal prisoner, even for an hour.
”Good maid!” said her mistress, when she saw that the tale was finished.
”Now sleep thou, for I would not cut off a young maid from her rest. I can sleep belike, or lie awake, as it please the saints.”
All was silence after that for half-an-hour. Amphillis had just dropped asleep, when she was roused again by a low sound, of what nature she knew not at first. Then she was suddenly conscious that the porter's watch-dog, Colle, was keeping up a low, uneasy growl beneath the window, and that somebody was trying to hush him. Amphillis lay and listened, wondering whether it were some further nonsense of Agatha's manufacture.
Then came the sound of angry words and hurrying feet, and a woman's shrill scream.
”What ado is there?” asked the Countess. ”Draw back the curtain, Phyllis, and see.”
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