Hilarius watched her, hardly daring to hope. She held it out to him: “Now up and off to thy little maid.”
Hilarius took the sack, but only to lay it down again. Kneeling, he took both her little brown hands, and his tears fell fast as he kissed them.
“Maid, maid, canst forgive my theft, ay, and my hard words in the forest? God help me for a poor, blind fool!”
“Nay,” she answered, “there is naught to forgive; and see, thou hast learnt to hunger and to love! Farewell, little brother, we pass here again a fortnight hence, and I would fain have word of thy little maid. Ay, and shouldst thou need a home for her, bring her to us; my old grandam is in the other waggon and she will care for her.”
Hilarius ran across the fields, full of sorrow for his sin, and yet greatly glad because of the wonderful goodness of God.
When he got back his little maid sat alone by the fire. He hastened to make food ready, but the child was far spent and would scarcely eat. Then he went out to find the woman.
He saw her standing in the doorway of an empty hovel, and she cried to him to keep back.
“My babe is dead, and I feel the sickness on me. I went to the houses seeking meal, even to Gammer Harden’s; and I must die. As for thee, thou shalt not come near me, but bide with the child; so maybe God will spare the innocent.”
Hilarius besought her long that she would at least suffer him to bring her food, but she would not.
“Nay, I could not eat, the fever burns in my bones; let me alone that I may die the sooner.”