“’Tis right the thing I should have done myself, as a young maid,” said she. “Ay, I loved dearly to make lordly, sober folks look foolish. Poor Father Jordan, howbeit, was scarce fit game for her crossbow. If she had brought Avena Foljambe down, I’d have given her a clap on the back. Now, maid, let us see how thou canst braid up this old white hair for the pillow. It was jet black once, and fell right to my feet. I little thought, then—I little thought!”
The coucher accomplished, the Countess lay down in her bed; Perrote took leave of her, and put out the light, admonishing Amphillis to be quick. Then she left the room, locking the door after her.
“There!” said the voice of the Countess through the darkness. “Now then we are prisoners, thou and I. How doth it like thee?”
“It liketh me well, Dame, if so I may serve your Grace.”
“Well said! Thou shalt be meet for the Court ere long. But, child, thou hast not borne years of it, as I have: sixteen years with a hope of release, and eight with none. Tell me thy history: I have no list to sleep, and it shall pass the time.”
“If it may please your Grace, I reckon I have had none.”
“Thou wert best thank the saints for that. Yet I count ’tis scarce thus. Didst grow like a mushroom?”
“Truly, no, Dame,” said Amphillis, with a little laugh. “But I fear it should ill repay your Grace to hear that I fed chickens and milked cows, and baked patties of divers sorts.”
“It should well repay me. It were a change from blue silk and yellow twist, and one endless view from the window. Fare forth!”
Thus bidden, Amphillis told her story as she lay in the pallet, uninterrupted save now and then by a laugh or a word of comment. It was not much of a story, as she had said; but she was glad if it amused the royal prisoner, even for an hour.