“What! The worthy novice turned worldling and thief! Nay, ’tis a rare jest. What of thy fine sermons now, good preacher?”
But Hilarius answered never a word; overcome by shame, grief, and hunger, sudden darkness fell upon him.
When he came to himself he was sitting propped against the hedge; the waggon was drawn up by the roadside, and the dancer and her brother stood watching him.
“Fetch bread and wine,” said the girl, and to Hilarius who tried to speak, “Peace, ’til thou hast eaten.”
Hilarius ate eagerly, and when he had made an end the dancer said:—
“Now tell thy tale. Prithee, since when didst thou leave thy Saints and thy nursery for such an ill trade as this?”
Hilarius told her all, and when he had finished he wept because of his little maid, and his were not the only tears.
The dancer went to the waggon and came back with much food taken from her store, to which she added the hen; the sack held but fodder.
“But, Gia,” grumbled her brother, “there will be naught for us to-night.”
“Thou canst eat bread, or else go hungry,” she retorted, and filled a small sack with the victuals.