“I have been warned thrice, friend. But where God has need of me, there is my post, and there am I. There are penalties for desertion in the army of the Lord. I thank you for your kindly meaning. Good night!”
“Poor fool!” said Stephen to himself as he fastened the postern behind Gerhardt. “Yet—‘penalties for desertion’—I don’t know. Which is the fool, I wonder? If I could have saved her!”
Gerhardt went back to the Walnut Tree, where they were sitting down to the last meal. It consisted of “fat fish,” apple turnovers, and spiced ale.
“Eh dear!” said Isel, with a sigh. “To think that this is pretty nigh the last supper you’ll ever eat in this house, Derette! I could cry with the best when I think of it.”
“You can come to see me whenever you wish, Mother—much better than if I were at Godstowe.”
“So I can, child; but you can’t come to me.”
“I can send Leuesa to say that I want to see you.”
“Well, and if so be that I’ve broken my leg that very morning, and am lying groaning up atop of that ladder, with never a daughter to serve me—how then? Thou gone, and Flemild gone, and not a creature near!”
“You’ll have Ermine. But you are not going to break your leg, Mother, I hope.”
“You hope! Oh ay, hope’s a fine trimming, but it’s poor stuff for a gown. And how long shall I have Ermine? She’ll go and wed somebody or other—you see if she doesn’t.”