"A message? Ay, I warrant me the lad would think more of it than of aught else in the world. Why, sweetheart, he hath been never away from the house all this time—watching to be of service to any one—night and day it hath been so—and that he be not done to death passes my understanding. Ay, and the riding to London, and the bringing of thy father, and all—is't not worth a word of thanks? Nay, the youth hath won to my favor, I declare to thee; if none else will speak for him I will; a right good honest youth, I warrant. But there now, sweeting, hush thee; I may not speak more to thee, else the doctor will be for driving me forth."
There was silence for some time; then Judith said, wistfully,
"What flowers are in the garden now, grandmother?"
The old dame went to the window slowly; it was an excuse for not having too much talking going on.
"The garden be far past its best now," said she, "but there be marigolds and Michaelmas daisies——"
"Could you get me a bit of rosemary, grandmother?" the girl asked.
"Rosemary!" she cried in affright, for the mention of the plant seemed to strike a funeral note. "Foolish wench, thou knowest I can never get the rosemary bushes through the spring frosts. Rosemary, truly! What wantest thou with rosemary?"
"Or a pansy, then?"
"A pansy, doubtless—ay, ay, that be better now—we may find thee a pansy somewhere—and a plenty of other things, so thou lie still and get well."