——I never told your honour that piteous story yet——here Trim wiped his eyes a third time.
The young woman call’d the old man and his wife into the room, to show them the money, in order to gain me credit for a bed and what little necessaries I should want, till I should be in a condition to be got to the hospital——Come then! said she, tying up the little purse—I’ll be your banker—but as that office alone will not keep me employ’d, I’ll be your nurse too.
I thought by her manner of speaking this, as well as by her dress, which I then began to consider more attentively——that the young woman could not be the daughter of the peasant.
She was in black down to her toes, with her hair conceal’d under a cambric border, laid close to her forehead: she was one of those kind of nuns, an’ please your honour, of which, your honour knows, there are a good many in Flanders, which they let go loose——By thy description, Trim, said my uncle Toby, I dare say she was a young Beguine, of which there are none to be found anywhere but in the Spanish Netherlands—except at Amsterdam——they differ from nuns in this, that they can quit their cloister if they choose to marry; they visit and take care of the sick by profession——I had rather, for my own part, they did it out of good-nature.
——She often told me, quoth Trim, she did it for the love of Christ—I did not like it.——I believe, Trim, we are both wrong, said my uncle Toby—we’ll ask Mr. Yorick about it to-night at my brother Shandy’s——so put me in mind; added my uncle Toby.
The young Beguine, continued the corporal, had scarce given herself time to tell me “she would be my nurse,” when she hastily turned about to begin the office of one, and prepare something for me——and in a short time—though I thought it a long one—she came back with flannels, &c. &c., and having fomented my knee soundly for a couple of hours, &c., and made me a thin bason of gruel for my supper—she wish’d me rest, and promised to be with me early in the morning.——She wished me, an’ please your honour, what was not to be had. My fever ran very high that night—her figure made sad disturbance within me—I was every moment cutting the world in two—to give her half of it—and every moment was I crying, That I had nothing but a knapsack and eighteen florins to share with her——The whole night long was the fair Beguine, like an angel, close by my bedside, holding back the curtain and offering me cordials—and I was only awakened from my dream by her coming there at the hour promised, and giving them in reality. In truth, she was scarce ever from me; and so accustomed was I to receive life from her hands, that my heart sickened, and I lost colour when she left the room: and yet, continued the corporal (making one of the strangest reflections upon it in the world)——
——“It was not love”——for during the three weeks she was almost constantly with me, fomenting my knee with her hand, night and day—I can honestly say, an’ please your honour—that asterisks("yourhonour",1.6,1); * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * once.
That was very odd, Trim, quoth my uncle Toby.
I think so too—said Mrs. Wadman.
It never did, said the corporal.