As soon as the porter heard the name of Dame Lovell, he threw open the gate. “Enter, friend.” The ponderous gate swung to again, and the old man slowly preceded Richard through the archway to the door of the house, and up the wide staircase. He ushered him into a room panelled with oak, where he stirred up the decaying embers of the fire, requested him to be seated, and left the room. At the door of the adjoining chamber, Richard heard him softly whisper, “Mistress Alice! Mistress Alice!”
A gentle movement in the room followed, and then Richard heard the familiar voice of Alice Jordan.
“Hush! good Christopher,” said she, in a low tone; “the boy sleepeth at last—wake him not. What wouldst?”
“There is here a messenger from Lovell Tower, who would have speech of my Lady.”
On hearing this, Alice came forward at once into the oaken chamber where Richard sat.
“Ah! Master Pynson!” she said, “is it you! My Lady will be right fain to see you—but you come at an evil hour.”
“How so?” asked Richard, quickly.
“My Lady is watching this livelong night by the cradle of the young master, who is sore sick—we fear nigh unto death. The child is in grievous disease (restlessness, uneasiness), and cannot sleep; and her good Ladyship hath been singing unto him, I ween, for to soothe him to rest. Her voice hushed as you came, wherefore I count that the boy sleepeth.”
“What aileth the poor child?” inquired Richard.
“My Lady counteth that he got him an ill rheum when we departed hence for my Lord his house of plesance (country house), for to sweeten (See Note 2). Howsoever that be, he is now grievous sick.”