"Well, and warms to thee and me. Poor soul, a drew glaive on those twain that day, but Jorian Ketel and I we mastered him, and he drove them forth his house for ever."
"That may not be; he must take them back."
"That he will never do for us. You know the man; he is dour as iron: yet would he do it for one word from one that will not speak it."
"Who?"
"The vicar of Gouda. The old man will be at the manse to-morrow, I hear."
"How you come back to that."
"Forgive me: I am but a woman. It is us for nagging; shouldst keep me from it wi' questioning of me."
"My sister Kate?"
"Alas!"
"What hath ill befallen e'en that sweet lily? Out and alas!"