“Nay, friend, curse not your own child!” saith Mother, with a little shudder.
“Eh, poor lass, I never meant to curse her,” quoth she: “she’ll get curse enough from him she’s gone withal. She has made her bed, and she must lie on it. And a jolly hard one it shall be, by my troth!”
Here come Cousin Bess and Aunt Joyce into the chamber, and a deal more talk was had of them all: but at the last Mistress Lewthwaite rose up, and went away. But just ere she went, saith she to Milisent and me, that were sat together of one side of the chamber—
“Eh, my maids, but you twain should thank God and your good father and mother! for if you had been bred up with less care, this companion, whatso his name be, should have essayed to beguile you as I am a Cumberland woman. A pair of comely young lasses like you should have been a great catch for him, I reckon.”
“Ah, Mistress mine,” saith Cousin Bess, “when lasses take as much care of their own selves as their elders of them, we shall catch larks by the sky falling, I reckon.”
“You are right, Mistress Bess,” saith she: and so away hied she.
No sooner was Mistress Lewthwaite gone, than Mother saith,—“Bess, who didst thou account this man to be? Mistress Lewthwaite saith thou didst guess it to be one thou hadst known down in the shires, but she had forgat the name.”
I saw Cousin Bess look toward Aunt Joyce with a question in her eyes: and if ever I read English in eyes, what Aunt’s said was,—“Have a care!” Then Cousin Bess saith, very quiet—
“It was a gentleman in Oxford town, Cousin Lettice, that I was wont to hear of from our Nell when she dwelt yonder.”
“Oh, so?” saith Mother: and thus the matter ended.