The woman stared.
“Saving your honour, I won’t believe it. The gal is no road for the men, but as good a wench as ever served a pot.”
“Ruined, I mean, in the sense of fortune. She hath lost her all in this burning?”
“Ah! I misdoubt she’s worth no more than the clothes she stands in.”
“If I give you money, will you honestly do the last duties by the dead here?”
“Aye, that will I.”
“So that, if I procure the maid an asylum, she may feel happy that her grandfather will be laid decently to earth?”
“Aye, aye.”
She held out an eager hand; let those who have starved in a bitter winter call it a covetous one. She fingered each of the gold pieces as if it were a fairy flower of her imagination.
Tuke returned softly to the girl, who had never changed her position. He put his arm gently about her waist.