“No did ye?” quoth she, in a disappointed tone. “I thought they’d have been middling grown by now. But may-be He keeps th’ wings till we’ve got yon? Ay, I reckon that’s it. She’ll have ’em all right, some day.”
And Madge seemed satisfied.
Selwick Hall, February ye xvi.
Yester-morn, Dr Bell being at church, Mother was avised to ask him, if it might stand with his conveniency, to look in on Madge the next time he rideth that way, and see if aught might be done for her. He saith in answer that he should be a-riding to Thirlmere early this morrow, and would so do: and this even, on his way home, he came in hither to tell Mother his thought thereon. ’Tis even as we feared, for he saith there is no doubt that Madge is dying, nor shall she overlive many days. But right sorry were we to hear him say that he did marvel if she or Blanche Lewthwaite should go the first.
“Why, Doctor!” saith Mother, “I never reckoned Blanche so far gone as that.”
“May-be not when you saw her, Lady Lettice,” saith he. “But—women be so perverse! Why, the poor wretch might have lived till this summer next following, or even (though I scarce think it) have tided o’er another winter, but she must needs take it into her foolish head to rush forth into the garden, to say a last word to somebody, a frosty bitter even some ten days back, with never so much as a kerchief tied o’er her head; and now is she laid of her bed, as was the only thing like, and may scarce breathe with the inflammation of her lungs. She may win through, but verily I look not for it.”
“Poor heart! I will go and see her,” saith Mother.
“Ay, do so,” saith he. “Poor foolish soul!—as foolish in regard of her health as of her happiness.”
This even, I being the first in our chamber, was but making ready my gown with a clean partlet (ruff) for to-morrow, when Mother come in.
“Milly,” she saith, “I shall go (if the Lord will) to see Blanche to-morrow, and I would have thee go withal.”