“My maid,” said I to Hilda, “prithee tell me a thing. What didst thou signify by saying to thyself, right as we set forth from the Palace, that God must have heard thee?”
A great wave of colour passed over her face and neck.
“Dame,” she said, “I will speak soothliness. It was partly because I had prayed for money to buy food and physic: but partly also, because I was afraid of something, and I had asked the good God to keep it away from me. When you said that you and Messire would condescend to come with me, it delivered me from my fear. The good God must have heard me, for nobody else knew.”
“Afraid!” said I. “Whereof, my maid? Was it the porter’s great dog? He is a gentle beast as may be, and would never touch thee. What could harm thee in the Queen’s Palace?”
The wave of colour came again. “Madame does not know,” she said, in a low voice. “There are men worse than brutes: but such great ladies do not see it. One stayed me and spoke to me the night afore. I was afraid he might come again, and there was no one to help me but the good Lord. So I called to Him to be my guard, for there was none else; and I think He sent two of His angels with me.”
Mine own eyes were full, no less than Hilda’s.
“May the good Lord guard thee ever, poor maid!” said I. “But in very sooth, I am far off enough from an angel. Here cometh one something nearer thereto”—for I heard Jack’s voice without. “But tell me, dost thou know who it was of whom thou wert afraid?”
“I only know,” she said, “that his squire bare a blue and white livery, guarded in gold. I heard not his name.”
“Verily!” said I to myself, “such gentlemen be fair company for Dame Isabel the Queen!”
For I could have no doubt that poor Hilda’s enemy was that bad man, Sir Roger de Mortimer. Howbeit, I said no more, for then oped the door, and in came Jack, with a lad behind, bearing a great basket. Jack’s own arms were full of fardels (parcels), which he set down in a corner of the chamber, and bade the lad empty the basket beside, which was charged with firewood, “There!” saith he, “they be not like to want for a day or twain, poor souls! Come away, Sissot; we have earned a night’s rest.”