“Truly, my Lady is as one of the angels of the Holy One to her tried servants!” said Abraham thankfully.
Belasez kissed the hand of the Countess, and then turned and followed Margaret to the ante-chamber.
“Art thou very tired, Belasez?”
“Very, very weary, my Damsel. We have come fourteen miles on foot since yesterday.”
Very weary Belasez looked. Now that the momentary excitement of her arrival and reception was over, the light had died out of the languid eyes, and her head drooped as if she could scarcely hold it up.
“Go to bed,” said Margaret; “that is the best place for over-tired people.—Levina! My Lady and mother wills thee to bring the maid some food.”
Levina appeared at the door, with an expression of undisguised annoyance.
“Ha, chétife!—if here is not my Lady Countess Jew come again! What would it please her sweetest Grace to take?”
But Levina had forgotten, as older people sometimes do, that Margaret was no longer a child to be kept in silent subjection. Girls of fifteen—and she was nearly that now—were virtually women in the thirteenth century. Margaret turned to the scoffing Levina, with an air of dignified displeasure which rather startled the latter.
“Levina! thou hast forgotten thyself. Do as thou art bid.”