And she answered him, “I do not care.”
So he rose up from his knees a-sighing, and presently he said:—
“This is my motto: 'Steadfast.' And the message of the Prince is that he would fain speak with thee. One day he will send and bid thee to the palace; when the tutor and his lady mother shall be well disposed.”
“Sayst thou so?” cried Calote. “Ah, here 's service!”
But the squire was amazed and sorrowful.
“Art thou of the poor,” he exclaimed, “and wilt none of me? But thou canst clap thy hands for joy of being bid to the palace?”
“Nay, nay!” Calote protested. Tears came to her eyes; she laid her hand upon the squire's gay broidered sleeve. “But when I saw the little Prince a-going to Westminster, methought—'T is a fair child and noble; if he had one at his ear to tell him of the wrongs of his poor, he might learn to love these poor. Piers could learn him much. Mayhap I might wake this love in 's heart. Then would there be neither poverty nor riches, when the king is friend to the ploughman.”
“And if I serve thee faithful? If I bring thee to the Prince? If I make these wrongs my wrongs, and plead to him?—Then—Calote—then—what wilt thou?”
“How can I tell?” she whispered.