“Hush!” saith Hilda; but the child would go on.
“None at all! why, how was that?” saith Jack, looking at Hilda.
I answered for her. “The sick mother and helpless babes had the soup,” said I; “and this brave maid was content with a mouldy crust. Jack, a word in thine ear.”
“Good!” saith he, when I had whispered to him. “Go thy ways, sweetheart, and so do.”
“Nay, there is no need to go any ways,” said I, “for here cometh Meliora down degrees, and of a truth I somewhat shrink from facing Dame Elizabeth after my robbery of her, any sooner than must be—Meliora, child, wilt run above an instant, and fetch my blue mantle and the thicker of mine hoods?”
Meliora ran up straightway; for though she was something too forward, and could be pert when she would, yet was she good-natured enough when kindly used. I turned to Hilda.
“Hold thy palm, my maid,” said I. “Here is the money the lady ought (owed) thee.” And I haled into her hand the gold pieces and the silver crown.
Verily, I could have greeted mine eyes sore to see what then befell. The barne capered about and clapped her hands, crying, “Supper! supper! now we shall have meat!” but Hilda covered her eyes with her void hand, and sobbed as though her heart should break.
“God Almighty bless you, kind Dame!” said she, when as she could speak again. “I was nearhand in utter mishope (nearly in despair). Now my mother can have food and physic, and maybe, if it please God, she shall recover. May I be forgiven, but I was beginning to think the good God cared not for poor folks like us, or maybe that there was no God to care at all.”
Down came Meliora with my hood and mantle, which I cast all hastily about me, and then said I to Hilda—