“Well then, 'tis he.”
“Now Heaven forbid a lad I took out of the streets.”
“Well, but your worship is an understanding man. You took him not up without some merit of his?”
“Merit? not a jot! I liked the looks of the brat, that was all.”
“Was that no merit? He pleased the father's eye. And now who had pleased the daughter's. That has oft been seen since Adam.”
“How know ye 'tis he?”
“I held her hand, and with my finger did lightly touch her wrist; and when the others came and went, 'twas as if dogs and cats had fared in and out. But at this Ulrich's coming her pulse did leap, and her eye shine; and when he went, she did sink back and sigh; and 'twas to be seen the sun had gone out of the room for her. Nay, burgomaster, look not on me so scared: no witch or magician I, but a poor girl that hath been docile, and so bettered herself by a great neglected leech's art and learning. I tell ye all this hath been done before, thousands of years ere we were born. Now bide thou there till I come to thee, and prithee, prithee, spoil not good work wi' meddling.” She then went back and asked her patient for a lock of her hair.
“Take it,” said she, more listlessly than ever.
“Why, 'tis a lass of marble. How long do you count to be like that, mistress?”
“Till I am in my grave, sweet Peggy.”