“Hast thou bethought thee of what folk will say if thou go to Gloucester in the tail of the court? There be many on Cornhill have seen that youth; they know whence he is.—If thou go, and come not again for many months?”
He felt her cheek grow hot against his own, and then she drew away from him and looked in his eyes piteously:—
“Dost thou not believe I must do that Conscience telleth me is right, father?”
“Yea.”
“Then wherefore wilt thou seek to turn me from well-doing?”
“Thou art my daughter,” he answered gravely; “small wonder if I would shield thee from dangers and evil-report. Shall I not be blamed of all men, and rightly, if I let thee go o' this wild-goose chase?”
“All thy life I have never known thee give a weigh of Essex cheese for any man's praise or blame.”
“'T is very true!” he assented in moody fashion; and sat still with his head bent.
After a little she touched him, and “Thou 'lt bless me, father?” she said.
“To Gloucester, sayst thou?” he questioned absently; and then, “That 's nigh to Malvern Priory, and the Hills,—the Malvern Hills.”