“Ye are to stay here, birdeen, and keep the door barred against my return. Not a soul is to pass over the threshold while I am gone. Ye are not to open to the knock of man, woman, or child—mind that!”
“But, father, what if some one should come in mortal need—famished with the hunger or faint with the thirst?”
He led her to the rude cupboard and pointed to the nearly empty shelves.
“There is a cruiskeen of ale and a cup o’ water, a handful o’ dry dates and some oaten cake; that is all of food or drink left in the inn. ’Twill no more than last ye till I return, and if ye fed another ye would starve. So mind the promise I put on ye this night. Ye are to shelter no one in the inn while I am gone.”
Bridget watched her father drive the camels out of the courtyard; she barred the door on his going and for two days no foot crossed the threshold of the inn. But on the night of the third day, as Bridget was making ready for bed, she heard the sound of knocking on the door.
“Who is it and what is it ye are wanting this night?” called Bridget from within, keeping the door fast.
“God’s blessing on this house!” came in a man’s voice out of the dark. “I am Joseph, a carpenter of Arimathea, and this is Mary who is after needing a woman’s help this night. She is spent and can go no farther. Will ye give us shelter?”
“That I cannot. The promise is laid on me to give neither food nor shelter to living soul till my father comes hither. Were it not for that ’tis a glad welcome I’d be giving the both of ye.”
And then a woman’s voice came out of the darkness, a voice that set her breasts to be trembling and her heart to be leaping with joy.
“Are ye forgetting me, Bridhe astore?” said the voice.