Soothly, had the Archangel Raphael brake into the chamber and demanded fourteen crowns, Dame Elizabeth could have gazed on him no more astonied than she did on me, Cicely, that she had seen nearhand every day of her life for over a dozen years. I gave her leave to look how it listed her. From the coins in her lap I counted forth nine n.o.bles and a French crown, and was half-way down degrees again ere she well knew what I would be at. If I had had to pay her back every groat out of mine own purse--nay, verily, if I had stood to be beheaden for it--I would have had that money for Hilda la Vileyne that night.

They stood where I had left them, by the door of the long gallery, near the _porte-cochere_, but now with them was a third--mine own Jack, that had but now come in from the street, and the child knew him again, as she well showed.

"O Hilda!"

I heard her say, as I came running down swiftly--for I was dread afraid Dame Elizabeth should overtake me and s.n.a.t.c.h back the money--and I might have spared my fears, for had I harried the Queen's crown along with her crowns, no such a thing should ever have come in her head--"O Hilda!"

saith the child, "see here the good Messire who gave us the denier to buy soup."

I might have guessed it was Jack. He o'erheard the child, and stayed him to pat her on the head.

"Well, little one, was the soup good?"

"So good, Messire! But Hilda got none--not a drop."

"Hush!" saith Hilda; but the child would go on.

"None at all! why, how was that?" saith Jack, looking at Hilda.

I answered for her. "The sick mother and helpless babes had the soup,"

said I; "and this brave maid was content with a mouldy crust. Jack, a word in thine ear."

"Good!" saith he, when I had whispered to him. "Go thy ways, sweetheart, and so do."

"Nay, there is no need to go any ways," said I, "for here cometh Meliora down degrees, and of a truth I somewhat shrink from facing Dame Elizabeth after my robbery of her, any sooner than must be--Meliora, child, wilt run above an instant, and fetch my blue mantle and the thicker of mine hoods?"

Meliora ran up straightway; for though she was something too forward, and could be pert when she would, yet was she good-natured enough when kindly used. I turned to Hilda.

"Hold thy palm, my maid," said I. "Here is the money the lady ought [owed] thee." And I haled into her hand the gold pieces and the silver crown.

Verily, I could have greeted mine eyes sore to see what then befell.

The barne capered about and clapped her hands, crying, "Supper! supper!

now we shall have meat!" but Hilda covered her eyes with her void hand, and sobbed as though her heart should break.

"G.o.d Almighty bless you, kind Dame!" said she, when as she could speak again. "I was nearhand in utter mishope [nearly in despair]. Now my mother can have food and physic, and maybe, if it please G.o.d, she shall recover. May I be forgiven, but I was beginning to think the good G.o.d cared not for poor folks like us, or maybe that there was no G.o.d to care at all."

Down came Meliora with my hood and mantle, which I cast all hastily about me, and then said I to Hilda--

"My maid, I would fain see thy mother; maybe I could do her some good; and mine husband here will go with us for a guard. Lead on."

"G.o.d bless you!" she said yet again. "He _must_ have heard me." The last words were spoken lowly, as to herself.

We went forth of the great gates, and traversed the good streets, and came into divers little alleys that skirt the road near Saint Denis'

Gate. In one of these Hilda turned into an house--a full poor hut it was--and led me up degrees into a poor chamber, whither the child ran gleefully afore. Jack left me at the door, he and I having covenanted, when we whispered together, what he should do whilst I visited Hilda's mother.

Little Iolande ran forward into the chamber, crying, "Supper! supper!

Mother and Madeleine, Hilda has money for supper!"

What I then beheld was a poor pallet, but ill covered with a thin coverlet, whereon lay a pale, weak woman, that seemed full ill at ease, yet I thought scarce so much sick of body as sick at heart and faint with fasting and sorrow. At the end of the pallet sat a child something elder than Iolande, but a child still. There was no form in the chamber, but Hilda brought forward an old box, whereon she cast a clean ap.r.o.n, praying me to sit, and to pardon them that this should be the best they had to offer. I sat me down, making no matter thereof, for in very deed I was full of pity for these poor creatures.

The mother, as was but like, took me for Dame Elizabeth, and began to thank me for having paid my debts--at long last, she might have said.

But afore I could gainsay it, Hilda saith warmly--

"Oh no, Mother! This is not the lady that ought the money. Madame here is good--so good! and that lady--she has no heart in her, I think."

"Not very good, Hilda," said I, laughing, "when I fell on the dame that ought thee the money, and fairly wrenched it from her, whether she would or no. Howbeit," I continued to the poor woman, "_I_ will be good to you, if I can."

By bits and sc.r.a.ps I pulled her story forth of her mouth. It was no uncommon tale: a sickly wife and a selfish husband,--a deserted, struggling wife and mother--and then a penniless widow, with no friends and poor health, that could scant make shift to keep body and soul together, whether for herself or the children. The husband had come home at last but to be a burden and sorrow--to be nursed through a twelve months' sickness and then to die; and what with the weariness and lack of all comfort, the poor widow fell sick herself soon after, and Hilda, the young maid, had kept matters a-going, as best she might, ever sithence.

I comforted the poor thing to my little power; told her that I would give Hilda some work to do (and pay her for it), and that I would come and see her by times whilst the Queen should abide in Paris; but that when she went away must I go likewise, and it might be all suddenly, that I could not give her to wit. Hilda had sent the children forth to buy food, and there were but her and her mother. Mine husband was longer in return than I looked for.

"My maid," said I to Hilda, "prithee tell me a thing. What didst thou signify by saying to thyself, right as we set forth from the Palace, that G.o.d must have heard thee?"

A great wave of colour pa.s.sed over her face and neck.

"Dame," she said, "I will speak soothliness. It was partly because I had prayed for money to buy food and physic: but partly also, because I was afraid of something, and I had asked the good G.o.d to keep it away from me. When you said that you and Messire would condescend to come with me, it delivered me from my fear. The good G.o.d must have heard me, for n.o.body else knew."

"Afraid!" said I. "Whereof, my maid? Was it the porter's great dog?

He is a gentle beast as may be, and would never touch thee. What could harm thee in the Queen's Palace?"

The wave of colour came again. "Madame does not know," she said, in a low voice. "There are men worse than brutes: but such great ladies do not see it. One stayed me and spoke to me the night afore. I was afraid he might come again, and there was no one to help me but the good Lord. So I called to Him to be my guard, for there was none else; and I think He sent two of His angels with me."

Mine own eyes were full, no less than Hilda's.

"May the good Lord guard thee ever, poor maid!" said I. "But in very sooth, I am far off enough from an angel. Here cometh one something nearer thereto"--for I heard Jack's voice without. "But tell me, dost thou know who it was of whom thou wert afraid?"

"I only know," she said, "that his squire bare a blue and white livery, guarded in gold. I heard not his name."

"Verily!" said I to myself, "such gentlemen be fair company for Dame Isabel the Queen!"

For I could have no doubt that poor Hilda's enemy was that bad man, Sir Roger de Mortimer. Howbeit, I said no more, for then oped the door, and in came Jack, with a lad behind, bearing a great basket. Jack's own arms were full of fardels [parcels], which he set down in a corner of the chamber, and bade the lad empty the basket beside, which was charged with firewood, "There!" saith he, "they be not like to want for a day or twain, poor souls! Come away, Sissot; we have earned a night's rest."

"Messire!" cried the faint voice of the poor woman. "Messire is good as an angel from Heaven! But surely Messire has not demeaned himself to carry burdens--and for us!"

She seemed nearhand frightened at the thought.

"Nay, good woman," saith Jack, merrily--"no more than the angel that carried the cruse of water for the Prophet Elias. Well-a-day! securely I can carry a fardel without tarnishing my spurs? I would I might never do a worse deed."

"Amen!" said I, "for both of us."

We bade the woman and Hilda good even, and went forth, followed by blessings till we were in the very street: and not till then would I say--

"Jack, thou art the best man ever lived, but I would thou hadst a little more care for appearances. Suppose Sir Edmund or Master de Oxendon had seen thee!"

"Well?" saith Jack, as calm as a pool in a hollow. "Suppose they had."

"Why, then should they have laughed thee to scorn."

"Suppose they did?"