"Alas, poor soul. She shall have what she wants, but not for hire or reward."
And going to one of the secret recesses, of which the house was full, she brought forth a fairly printed New Testament and a Psalter.
"Give these to the poor lady and bid her bestow the price in charity," said she. "My husband will be only too glad to give the bread of life to one more perishing soul. But conceal them carefully. I would not have you brought into jeopardy. Your cousin, Sir Walter, tells me you are in great favor with your good lady."
"She is, indeed, good—far beyond my deserts," I answered: "I never saw a sweeter young creature. She hath but one fault, and I sometimes fear that may bring her into trouble. She cannot refrain her tongue from any gibe or jest that comes to her. Bishop Gardiner comes often to our house, and never, I think, without their having an encounter of wits, in which he is sure to come by the worst. I like not the way he looks at her, and believe, though he says not a word but of the most honeyed courtesy, he doth cherish in his heart both anger and revenge."
"It is a pity," said Margaret. "He is a wicked and cruel man—one of the true Pharisees which Scripture says do shut up the Kingdom of Heaven, not entering himself nor suffering others to do so. He is a dangerous enemy."
"I know I would not like him for mine, but I am too insignificant to draw his notice."
I dined with Margaret, and then we went together to her father's house, she giving me a caution not to speak of what she had told me about her husband affairs, specially before Philippa.
"She would surely never betray you," said I, startled.
Margaret shook her head.
"She might not be able to help herself. I trust nobody who goes to confession."