“Ah! ’tis pity thou art not a man, that thou mightest have had the tonsure,” replied Lady Lisle drily. “Ah me, children! If this be physic, ’tis more like to kill than cure.”
Little Honor lived through the night; and when the morning came, they were still awaiting the King’s messenger. As those who loved her sat round her bed, the child opened her eyes.
“Aunt Isoult,” she said in her little feeble voice, “how soon will Jesus come and take me?”
Isoult looked for an answer to Dr Thorpe, who was also present. He brushed his hand over his eyes.
“Would you liefer it were soon or long, little maid?” said he.
“For Mother’s sake, I would liefer He waited,” she whispered; “but for mine, I would He might come soon. There will be no more physic, will there—nor no more pain, after He cometh?”
“Poor heart!” exclaimed Lady Lisle, who sat in the window.
“Nay, little maid,” answered Dr Thorpe.
“Nor no more crying, Honor,” said Isoult.
“I would He would take Mother along with me,” pursued the child. “She hath wept so much these two years past. She used to smile so brightly, and it was so pretty to see her. I would she could do that again.”