"I think she would have been pleased with them," he said, absently. And then he said,
"Good grandmother, it were of no use to lay them near her in the morning—on a chair or at the window—that perchance she might look at them?"
"Nay, nay," the grandmother said, shaking her head, "'tis no child's trouble that hath befallen the poor wench, that she can be comforted with pretty trifles."
"I meant not that," said he, flushing somewhat. "'Tis that I would have her know that—that there were friends thinking of her all the same—those that would rather have her gladdened and tended and made much of, than—than—chidden with any chastisement."
This word chastisement seemed to recall his anger.
"I say that Judith hath done no wrong at all," he said, as if he were confronting some one not there; "and that I will maintain; and let no man in my hearing say aught else. Why, now, the story as you tell it, good grandmother—'tis as plain as daylight—a child can see it—all that she did was done to magnify her father and his writing; and if the villain sold the play—or let it slip out of his hands—was that her doing? Doubtless it is a sore mischance; but I see not that Judith is to be blamed for it; and right well I know that if her father were to hear how she is smitten down with grief he would be the first to say, 'Good lass, there is no such harm done. A great harm would be your falling sick; get you up and out, seek your friends again, and be happy as you were before.' That is what he would say, I will take my oath of it; and if the parson and his chastisements were to come across him, by my life I would not seek to be in the parson's shoes!"
"I must make another trial with the poor wench," said the good grandmother, rising, "that hath eaten nothing all the day. In truth her only crying is to be left alone now, and that hereafter I am to let her bide with me. It be a poor shelter, I think, for one used to live in a noble house; but there 'tis, so long as she wisheth it."
"Nay, but this cannot be suffered to go on, good Mistress Hathaway," said he, as he rose and got his cap; "for if Judith take no food, and will see no one, and be alone with her trouble, of a surety she will fall ill. Now to-morrow morning I will bring Prudence over. If any can comfort her, Prudence can; and that she will be right willing, I know. They have been as sisters."
"That be well thought of, Master Quiney," said the grandmother, as she went to the door with him. "Take care o' the ditch the other side of the way; it be main dark o' nights now."
"Good-night to you, good grandmother," said he, as he disappeared in the darkness.