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The Lamb in the midst of the Throne had led them to living fountains of water, and they were comforted for evermore. "Who was that young woman that swooned and had to be borne away?" asked a woman in the crowd of another, as they made their way back into the town. The woman appealed to was Audrey Wastborowe. "Oh, it was Amy Clere of the Magpie," said she. "The heat was too much for her, I reckon."
When Mrs Clere reached the Magpie, she went up to Amy's room, and found her lying on the bed with her face turned to the wall. "Amy! what ailed thee, my maid? art better now?" "Mother, we're all wrong!" "Dear heart, what does the child mean?" inquired the puzzled mother. "Has the sun turned thy wits out o' door?" "The sun did nought to me, mother. It was Bessie's face that I could not bear.
Mrs Clere's servant, Elizabeth Foulkes, was her dearest friend. "You'd best give Mistress Elizabeth Foulkes the go by, Rose Allen. She's a cantankerous, ill-beseen hussy, and no good company for you. She'll learn you to do as ill as herself, if you look not out." "But what has Bessy done?" "Gone into school-keeping," said Mrs Clere sarcastically.
"Step out!" was all he said, as he compelled Elizabeth to keep pace with him till they reached Balcon Lane. Mrs Clere was busy in the kitchen. She stopped short as they entered, with a gridiron in her hand which she had cleaned and was about to hang up. "Well, this is a proper time of night to come home, mistress!
Certes, the good Lord St. Clere and his fair lady sister might think our housekeeping as niggardly as that of their churlish kinsman at Gay Bowers, who sent his father's jester to the hospital, sold the poor sot's bells for hawk-jesses, and made a nightcap of his long-eared bonnet.
Mr Ewring, with set face, trying to force a smile for his wife's encouragement; Mrs Foulkes, gazing with clasped hands and tearful eyes on her daughter; Thomas Holt and all his family; Mr Ashby and all his; Ursula Felstede, looking very unhappy; Dorothy Denny, looking very sad; old Walter Purcas, leaning on his staff, from time to time shaking his white head as if in bitter lamentation; a little behind the others, Mrs Clere and Amy; and in front, busiest of the busy, Sir Thomas Tye and Nicholas Clere.
What would you?" asked Mrs Clere, rather more graciously. "Well, I scarce like to tell you; but I was meaning to ask you the kindness, if you'd give leave for Bessy Foulkes to pass next saint's day afternoon with us. If you could spare her, at least." "I can spare Bessy Foulkes uncommon well!" said Mrs Clere irascibly. "Why, Mistress Clere! Has Bessy " Rose began in an astonished tone.
As Mr Ewring stood looking out, he saw somebody coming up from the gate towards the mill a girl, who walked slowly, as if she felt very hot or very tired. The day was warm, but not oppressively so; and he watched her coming languidly up the road, till he saw that it was Amy Clere. What could she want at the mill? Mr Ewring waited to see. "Good den, Mistress Amy," said he, as she came nearer.
"In very deed, my lady," said Mistress Clere, dropping a mock courtesy, "I desire not to meddle with your ladyship's high matters of state, and do intreat you of pardon that I took upon me so weighty a matter. Go get thee abed, hussy, and hold thine idle tongue!" Elizabeth turned and went upstairs in silence. Words were of no use. Mistress Clere followed her.
"Whatever's come to Mistress Clere?" asked a young woman who stood next to Rose, waiting to be served. "She and Audrey Wastborowe's changed tempers this morrow." "Something's vexed her," said Rose. "I'm sorry, for I want to ask her a favour, when I've done my business." "She's not in a mood for favour-granting," said the young woman. "That's plain. You'd better let be while she's come round."
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