Life went on quietly—for the twelfth century—in the little house in Kepeharme Street. That means that nobody was murdered or murderously assaulted, the house was not burned down nor burglariously entered, and neither of the boys lost a limb, and was suffered to bleed to death, for interference with the King’s deer. In those good old times, these little accidents were rather frequent, the last more especially, as the awful and calmly-calculated statistics on the Pipe Rolls bear terrible witness.
Romund married, and went to live in the house of his bride, who was an heiress to the extent of possessing half-a-dozen houses in Saint Ebbe’s parish. Little Rudolph grew to be seven years old, a fine fearless boy, rather more than his quiet mother knew how to manage, but always amenable to a word from his grave father. The Germans had settled down peaceably in various parts of the country, some as shoemakers, some as tailors, some as weavers, or had hired themselves as day-labourers to farmers, carpenters, or bakers. Several offers of marriage had been made to Ermine, but hitherto, to the surprise of her friends, all had been declined, her brother assenting to this unusual state of things.
“Why, what do you mean to do, Gerard?” asked Isel of her, when the last and wealthiest of five suitors was thus treated. “You’ll never have a better offer for the girl than Raven Soclin. He can spend sixty pound by the year and more; owns eight shops in the Bayly, and a brew-house beside Saint Peter’s at East Gate. He’s no mother to plague his wife, and he’s a good even-tempered lad, as wouldn’t have many words with her. Deary me! but it’s like throwing the fish back into the sea when they’ve come in your net! What on earth are you waiting for, I should just like to know?”
“Dear Mother Isel,” answered Ermine softly, “we are waiting to see what God would have of me. I think He means me for something else. Let us wait and see.”
“But there is nothing else, child,” returned Isel almost irritably, “without you’ve a mind to be a nun; and that’s what I wouldn’t be, take my word for it. Is that what you’re after?”
“No, I think not,” said Ermine in the same tone.
“Then there’s nothing else for you—nothing in this world!”
“This is not the only world,” was the quiet reply.
“It’s the only one I know aught about,” said Isel, throwing her beans into the pan; “or you either, if I’m not mistaken. You’d best be wise in time, or you’ll go through the wood and take the crookedest stick you can find.”
“I hope to be wise in time, Mother Isel; but I would rather it were God’s time than mine. And we Germans, you know, believe in presentiments. Methinks He has whispered to me that the way He has appointed for my treading is another road than that.”