“Good evening,” she said to the portress. “It was good of my Lord Oxford to provide—nay! Charity!”
“Ay, Madam, it’s me,” said the familiar voice of the old servant, whom her mistress believed she had left behind in Cumberland.
“Why, old friend! when earnest thou hither?”
“You’d best sit you down afore you hear folks their catechisms,” said Charity, coolly, leading the way to a pleasant parlour hung and upholstered in green, where a fire was burning on the hearth, and a large cushioned chair stood beside it. “When did I come? Well, let’s see?—it was o’ Tuesday last.”
“But how?” queried her mistress, in a tone which was a mixture of astonishment and perplexity.
“Same how as I get to most places, Madam—on my feet.”
“You walked to London, Charity?”
“Ay, I did. I’m good for fifteen miles at a stretch.”
“And whence gat you the money for your lodging?”
Charity laughed. “I never paid a halfpenny for lodging nobut (Note 1) once, and that was th’ last night afore I got here. Some nights I lay in a barn upo’ th’ hay: but most on ’em I got took in at a farm-house, and did an hour or two’s work for ’em i’ th’ morn to pay for my lodging and breakfast. But some on ’em gave it me right out for nought—just for company like. I bought my victuals, of course: but I should ha’ wanted them wherever I’d been.”