“That’s kind of you, Janet,” said Mace, drowsily. “Thank you for all you have done. You will think kindly of me when I am gone?”
“Why, of course, mistress. But, there, dear heart alive, don’t talk like that. Why it be as if you was going to be buried. La! You ought to be as blithe as blithe.”
“Should you be, Janet?” said Mace. “Oh, my head—my head, it burns—it burns!”
“La, mistress, yes; as joyous as a bird to wed with so handsome and courtly a man. Art ill, mistress?”
“Sleepy, Janet, sleepy.”
“There, then, let’s get on the dress, and see how you look, and then you shall have a long sleep, and I’ll see that no one disturbs you.”
“No, no,” said Mace, hoarsely. “I must not sleep, child—I will not sleep. Try on the dress and go away. I shall sit by the open window.”
“La, mistress, thou’lt get the ager-shakes that come off the Pool. I wouldn’t sit by the open window to-night. Come, get up, dear, and let me take off your gown. I’ll unlace it, and now we’ll have on the beautiful white robe. Lovely, lovely!”
And again, “Lovely, lovely!”
And then, “How beautiful you look!”