“Fourscore! ay, or forty score!” cried Milisent. “Why, old Mistress Outhwaite journeyed right to the Border but just ere we came, and she’s four years over the fourscore—and on horseback belike. Sure, you might go in a waggon or a caroche!”
“Where is the caroche, Milly?”
“Well! but at any rate we might find a waggon.”
“There is a travelling waggon,” said Hans, “leaves the Chequers in Holborn for York, once in the month—methinks ’tis the first Thursday in every month.”
“That is three weeks hence. Why not? Sure, your landlord would suffer you to let this house, and you might leave some behind till it were off your hands. What saith Temperance?—or Hans?”
“That where my Lady goeth, I go,” was the answer from Hans.
“Is it needful, Milly, to settle all our futures ere the clock strike?” humorously inquired Mr Lewthwaite. “Methinks we might leave that for the morrow.”
Milisent laughed, and let the subject drop.
Mr Lewthwaite and Temperance happened to be the last up that night. When all the rest had departed, and Charity came with the turf to bank up the parlour fire for the night, Temperance was saying—
“One thing can I promise you,—which is, if Aubrey return to Selwick as lord and master, you may trust Faith to go withal. As for me, I live but in other lives, and where I am most needed, there will I be, if God be served: but truly, I see not how we shall move my Lady Lettice. I would fain with all my heart have her back yonder, and so she would herself,—of that am I right sure. But to ride so far on an horse, at her years, and with her often pains—how could she? And though the waggon were safer, it were too long and weary a journey. Think you not so?”