"I never said she was, good wife," replied her husband. "Shall I bring her up, sir, to your chamber?"
"No," answered Richard; "it wants an hour of dinner yet; let her come with me to the hall, if it be vacant."
"That it is, discreet sir," replied the host. "Now, I warrant you," he continued, murmuring to himself, as he walked away to call the poor girl to her kind benefactor, "he has got some lady love himself, and fears it should come to her ears, were he to entertain a pretty maiden in his own chamber."
Perhaps some such thought might pass through Richard of Woodville's mind; but certainly it would never have entered therein, had it not been for the host's first suspicion; and he would have received the poor girl in his own room without hesitation, though the minstrels of that day and their followers were generally a somewhat dissolute and licentious race. It has happened strangely, indeed, in all ages, that those who follow, as their profession, the sweetest of arts, music, which would seem intended to elevate and purify the mind and heart, should be so frequently obnoxious to the charge of immoral life; but so it has been, alas, though difficult to account for.
Finding his way through one or two long ill-lighted passages, Richard of Woodville opened the door of the room appropriated to the daily meals of the guests and their host, and had not long to wait for the object of his compassion. She was not dressed in the same manner as the night before, but still, her garb was singular. A bright red scarf, which had been twined through her black hair, was no longer there; and the rich, luxuriant tresses, were bound plainly round her head, which was partially covered also by a hood of simple gray cloth. The rest of her apparel was white, except at the edge of the petticoat, which came not much below the knee, and was bordered by two bands of gold lace. Her small, delicate ankles, as fair as alabaster, were, nevertheless, without covering; and her feet were clothed in small slippers of untanned leather, trimmed and tied with gold.
Bending down her beautiful head as she entered, she said, "I have come to thank you, noble sir."
"Nay, no thanks, my fair maiden," answered Woodville, placing a stool for her to sit, as the host retired. "I did but what any Christian and gentleman ought to do; so, say not a word of that. But I am glad you have come, for I wish much to hear more of you, and to know what will become of you now."
"Ah! what, indeed?" said the girl, casting down her eyes, which had before been fixed upon the young gentleman's countenance.
"Have you no friends, no home, to which you can go?" asked Woodville.
"In this country, no friends that would receive me--no home that would be open to me," replied the girl, the tears rolling over the long black lashes, and trickling down her cheek. "I am not given to yield to sorrow thus," she added; "had I been, it would have crushed me long ago. But this last blow has been heavy; and, like a reed beaten down by the storm, I shall not raise my head till the sun shines again."