“Do you hate me, fair mother?”
“I did afore I saw thee this morrow,” replied Dame Lovell, candidly.
“And wherefore not after?”
“Meseemeth thou hast repented thyself of thy deed.”
“Repented!” said Lord Marnell, mournfully. “Mother, will you crede me if I tell you that no sorrow worser than this can ever befall me, and that had I known what would come of my seeking of Abbot Bilson, I had sooner cut off my right hand?”
“I do,” said she.
“Madge knew it, poor damsel! and she said she forgave me in such manner as Christ did forgive herself. Will you do the like, mother?”
“With all mine heart and soul, good son!” cried Dame Lovell, every shred of her animosity vanished, and the tears fairly running down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry, g’ammer!” exclaimed little Geoffrey, jumping off his father’s knee and running to Dame Lovell. “What are you crying for? Somebody hurt you? If they have, I’ll kill ’em!”
Dame Lovell laughed through her tears at Master Geoffrey’s threat. She was a good deal surprised when Lord Marnell spoke of going away; but he said he had promised his cousin Sir Ralph that he would stay with him next time he came into the neighbourhood; and he must return to London in a day or two. So he only remained to dinner, and departed immediately afterwards, evoking from Geoffrey the significant remark that “he liked him a great deal better this time.”