Chapter Fifteen.
Silence under difficulties.
Elizabeth Foulkes was almost in despair. Her master held her arm tight, and he was a strong man—to break away from him was simply impossible—and to persuade him to release her seemed about as unlikely. Still she cried, “Master, let me go!” in tones that might have melted any softer heart than that of Nicholas Clere.
“Step out!” was all he said, as he compelled Elizabeth to keep pace with him till they reached Balcon Lane. Mrs Clere was busy in the kitchen. She stopped short as they entered, with a gridiron in her hand which she had cleaned and was about to hang up.
“Well, this is a proper time of night to come home, mistress! Marched in, too, with thy master holding of thee, as if the constable had thee in custody! This is our pious maid, that can talk nought but Bible, and says her prayers once a day oftener nor other folks! I always do think that sort no better than hypocrites. What hath she been about, Nicholas? what saith she?”
“A pack o’ lies!” said Nicholas, harshly. “Whined out a tale of some message of dread import that somebody, that must not be named, hath sent her on. I found her hasting with all speed across the High Street, the contrary way from what it should have been. You’d best give her the strap, wife. She deserves it, or will ere long.”
Nicholas sat down in the chimney-corner, leaving Mistress Clere to deal with the offender. Elizabeth well knew that the strap was no figure of speech, and that Mistress Clere when angry had no light hand. Girls were beaten cruelly in those days, and grown women too, when their mothers or mistresses chose to punish them for real or supposed offences. But Elizabeth Foulkes thought very little of the pain she might suffer, and very much of the needed warning which had not been given. And then, suddenly, the words flashed across her, “Thy will be done on earth, as it is in Heaven.” Then the warning was better let alone, if it were God’s will. She rose with a calmer face, and followed Mistress Clere to the next room to receive her penalty.
“There!” said that lady, when her arm began to ache with beating Elizabeth. “That’ll do for a bit, I hope. Perhaps thou’lt not be so headstrong next time. I vow, she looks as sweet as if I’d given her a box of sugar plums! I’m feared thou’d have done with a bit more, but I’m proper tired. Now, speak the truth: who sent thee on this wild-goose chase?”