"What! art come down, wench?" the old dame said, patting her kindly on the shoulder. "That be so far well—ay, ay, I like that now—that be better for thee than lying all alone. But what would you with the little maid's work, that you would take it out of her hands?"
"Why, if I am idle, and do nothing, grandmother, you will be for turning me out of the house," the girl answered, looking up with a strange kind of smile.
"Turn thee out of the house," said her grandmother, who had just caught a better glimpse of the wan and tired face. "Ay, that will I—and now. Come thy ways, wench; 'tis time for thee to be in the fresh air. Cicely, let be the fowl now. Put some more wood on the fire, and hang on the pot—there's a clever lass. And thou, grandchild, come thy ways with me into the garden, and I warrant me when thou comest back a cupful of barley-broth will do thee no harm."
Judith obeyed, though she would fain have sat still. And then, when she reached the front door what a bewilderment of light and color met her eyes! She stood as one dazed for a second or two. The odors of the flowers and the shrubs were so strange, moreover—pungent and strange and full of memories. It seemed so long a time since she had seen this wonderful glowing world and breathed this keen air, that she paused on the stone flag to collect her senses as it were. And then a kind of faintness came over her, and perhaps she might have sank to the ground, but that she laid hold of her grandmother's arm.
"Ay, ay, come thy ways and sit thee down, dearie," the old dame said, imagining that the girl was but begging for a little assistance in her walking. "I be main glad to see thee out again. I liked not that lying there alone—nay, I wur feared of it, and I bade Prudence send your mother and Susan to see you——"
"No, no, good grandmother, no, no!" Judith pleaded, with all the effort that remained to her.
"But yea, yea!" her grandmother said, sharply. "Foolish wench, that would hide away from them that can best aid thee! Ay, and knowest thou how the new disease, as they call it, shows itself at the beginning? Why, with a pinching of the face and sharp pains in the head. Wouldst thou have me let thee lie there, and perchance go from bad to worse, and not send for them—ay, and for Susan's husband, if need were? Nay, but let not that fright thee, good wench," she said, in a gentler way. "'Tis none so bad as I thought, else you would not be venturing down the stairs—nay, nay, there be no harm done as yet, I warrant me—'tis a breath of fresh air to sharpen thee into a hungry fit that will be the best doctor for thee. Here, sit thee down and rest now, and when the barley-broth be warm enough, Cicely shall bring thee out a dish of it. Nay, I see no harm done. Keep up thy heart, lass; thou wert ever a brave one—ay, what was there ever that could daunt thee? and not the boldest of the youths but was afraid of thy laugh and thy merry tongue. Heaven save us, that thou should take on so! And if you would sell yourself to work in slavery in the Indies, think you they would buy a poor, weak, trembling creature? Nay, nay, we will have to fetch back the roses to your cheeks ere you make for that bargain, I warrant me!"
They were now seated in the little arbor. On entering Judith had cast her eyes round it in a strange and half-frightened fashion; and now, as she sat there, she was scarcely listening to the good-natured garrulity of the old dame, which was wholly meant to cheer her spirits.
"Grandmother," said she, in a low voice, "think you 'twas really he that took away with him my father's play?"
"I know not how else it could have been come by," said the grandmother, "but I pray you, child, heed not that for the present. What be done and gone cannot be helped—let it pass—there, there, now, what a lack of memory have I, that should have shown thee the pretty lace cuffs that Thomas Quiney left for thee—fit for a queen they be, to be sure—ay, and the fine lace of them, and the silver, too. He hath a free hand, he hath; 'tis a fair thing for any that will be in life-partnership with him; 'twill not away, marry 'twill not; 'twill bide in his nature—that will never out of the flesh that's bred in the bone, as they say; and I like to see a young man that be none of the miser kind, but ready forth with his money where 'tis to please them he hath a fancy for. A brave lad he is too, and one that will hold his own; and when I told him that you were pleased that his business went forward well, why, saith he, as quick as quick, 'Said she that?' and if my old eyes fail me not, I know of one that setteth greater share by your good word than you imagine, wench."