But the sisters had found ease in helping others, and ere long sought the prior’s advice over a project to serve the people for generations yet unborn.
They had discovered that sorrow and calamity come to the poor as to the rich, and they proposed to preserve others from losses and heartaches such as theirs.
There was a general lamentation that Swark’s Stone was gone and the ford less readily found.
“Sister,” said Idonea, “had there been a bridge over the Trent like the Monks’ Bridge over the Dove, we had been happy wives, not mourning maidens. Let us up and build one. If we cannot restore our dead, we may preserve life for the living.”
“Right gladly,” assented Avice. “We may so make our sorrow a joy to thousands.”
The prior hailed their project as a divine inspiration, hardly conscious he had struck the keynote. They were rich. They would hear nought of suitors. What better could they do with their wealth?
He drew plans, he found them masons. Stone was not far to seek for quarrying; but, to be of service, the bridge must cover broad lands as well as common current.
“Twenty-nine arches!” cried William Harpur. “The cost will be enormous. It will swallow up your whole possessions! You must be mad; and the prior is worse to sanction such a sacrifice.”
“The sacrifice was made when the river robbed us of our dearest treasures. We must save others a like sacrifice at any cost,” said Avice, now as bold as her sister.
The work began and went on steadily. Honest labour was paid for, and churls, who had lived half on doles and housed like dogs, were paid a penny[5] a day or a peck of meal, and took heart to work with a will. There were always loose stones and wood about, and no one said nay when they began to repair and improve their own dwellings. And so industry came to Swarkstone with the building of the bridge. Heaven, too, seemed to smile upon the undertaking, for never a disaster occurred to mar it.