“No, no, Patsy woman,” said the stricken man, “you must not leave me. You will not leave me, will you, Patsy?”
He entreated her like a child.
“I will not be five minutes away,” she answered, soothingly. “But I cannot neglect the poor, good horses, can I, mine own? You would have them lie in comfort and warmth, even as you do.”
“Prithee, stay you here, madam,” said the honest serving-girl. “And take off your wet cloak, and come about the fire. I will look to the horses.”
“No, child,” said the lady; “I must look to them myself. They have played a noble part this night.”
Despite the entreaties of the sufferer, whose demands for his wife not to leave him rose almost to a wail, she insisted on going out to see that Joseph had succoured the distressed creatures according to their deserts.
When she returned, Cicely, the serving-maid, grew truly imperative.
“I’m a-going to take them wet clothes off you, madam, by your leave,” she said. “You will surely get your death. Why, even now you look fit almost for the grave.”
The lady regarded the honest girl with a wan smile.
“Child, you are very good,” she said.