And as Grisell, in obedience to his call, threw back her veil, Bernard screamed, “Ugsome wench, send her away!” threw his arms round his father’s neck and hid his face with a babyish gesture.
“Saints have mercy!” cried the mother, “thou hast not mended much since I saw thee last. They that marred thee had best have kept thee. Whatever shall we do with the maid?”
“Send her away, the loathly thing,” reiterated the boy, lifting up his head from his father’s shoulder for another glimpse, which produced a puckering of the face in readiness for crying.
“Nay, nay, Bernard,” said Ridley, feeling for the poor girl and speaking up for her when no one else would. “She is your sister, and you must be a fond brother to her, for an ill-nurtured lad spoilt her poor face when it was as fair as your own. Kiss your sister like a good lad, and—
“No! no!” shouted Bernard. “Take her away. I hate her.” He began to cry and kick.
“Get out of his sight as fast as may be,” commanded the mother, alarmed by her sickly darling’s paroxysm of passion.
Grisell, scarce knowing where to go, could only allow herself to be led away by Ridley, who, seeing her tears, tried to comfort her in his rough way. “’Tis the petted bairn’s way, you see, mistress—and my lady has no thought save for him. He will get over it soon enough when he learns your gentle convent-bred conditions.”
Still the cry of “Grisly Grisell,” picked up as if by instinct or by some echo from the rear of the escort, rang in her ears in the angry fretful voice of the poor little creature towards whom her heart was yearning. Even the two women-servants there were, no more looked at her askance, as they took her to a seat in the hall, and consulted where my lady would have her bestowed. She was wiping away bitter tears as she heard her only friend Cuthbert settle the matter. “The chamber within the solar is the place for the noble damsels.”
“That is full of old armour, and dried herrings, and stockfish.”
“Move them then! A fair greeting to give to my lord’s daughter.”