“No.”
“Nor come not from the lord of the manor?”
“No, I am a stranger.”
“Oh, then, for the fear of God, who visits with misery and death such as be harmless, tarry not here, but fly! This place is under his curse—and his Church’s.”
“Let me come in and help you—you are sick and in trouble.”
I was better used to the dim light now. I could see her hollow eyes fixed upon me. I could see how emaciated she was.
“I tell you the place is under the Church’s ban. Save yourself—and go, before some straggler see thee here, and report it.”
“Give yourself no trouble about me; I don’t care anything for the Church’s curse. Let me help you.”
“Now all good spirits—if there be any such—bless thee for that word. Would God I had a sup of water!—but hold, hold, forget I said it, and fly; for there is that here that even he that feareth not the Church must fear: this disease whereof we die. Leave us, thou brave, good stranger, and take with thee such whole and sincere blessing as them that be accursed can give.”
But before this I had picked up a wooden bowl and was rushing past the king on my way to the brook. It was ten yards away. When I got back and entered, the king was within, and was opening the shutter that closed the window-hole, to let in air and light. The place was full of a foul stench. I put the bowl to the woman’s lips, and as she gripped it with her eager talons the shutter came open and a strong light flooded her face. Smallpox!