The Cloister and the Hearth by Charles Reade (most interesting books to read .TXT) 📕

But she took the cue, and said, “Nay; but a man will maybe seek more than I can well pay.

“Not I,” said Luke warmly. “Why, Mistress Margaret, I am your neighbour, and I do very well at the coopering. I can carry your basket for you before or after my day's work, and welcome, You have no need to pay me anything. 'Tisn't as if we were strangers, ye know.”

“Why, Master Luke, I know your face, for that matter; but I cannot call to mind that ever a word passed between us.”

“Oh yes, you did, Mistress Margaret. What, have you forgotten? One day you were trying to carry your baby and eke your pitcher full o' water; and quo' I, 'Give me the baby to carry.' 'Nay, says you, 'I'll give you the pitcher, and keep the bairn myself;' and I carried the pitcher home, and you took it from me at this door, and you said to me, 'I am muckle obliged to you, young man,' with such a sweet voice; not like the folk in this street speak to a body.”

“I do mind now, Master Luke; and methinks it was the least I could say.”

“Well, Mistress Margaret, if you will say as much every time I carry your basket, I care not how often I bear it, nor how far.”

“Nay, nay,” said Margaret, colouring faintly. “I would not put upon good nature, You are young, Master Luke, and kindly. Say I give you your supper on Saturday night, when you bring the linen home, and your dawn-mete o' Monday; would that make us anyways even?”

“As you please; only say not I sought a couple o' diets! for such a trifle as yon.”

With chubby-faced Luke's timely assistance, and the health and strength which Heaven gave this poor young woman, to balance her many ills, the house went pretty smoothly awhile. But the heart became more and more troubled by Gerard's long, and now most mysterious silence.

And then that mental torturer, Suspense, began to tear her heavy heart with his hot pincers, till she cried often and vehemently, “Oh, that I could know the worst.”

Whilst she was in this state, one day she heard a heavy step mount the stair. She started and trembled, “That is no step that I know. Ill tidings?”

The door opened, and an unexpected visitor, Eli, came in, looking grave and kind.

Margaret eyed him in silence, and with increasing agitation,

“Girl.” said he, “the skipper is come back.”

“One word,” gasped Margaret; “is he alive?”

“Surely I hope so. No one has seen him dead.”

“Then they must have seen him alive.”

“No, girl; neither dead nor alive hath he been seen this many months in Rome. My daughter Kate thinks he is gone to some other city. She bade me tell you her thought.”

“Ay, like enough,” said Margaret gloomily; “like enough. My poor babe!”

The old man in a faintish voice asked her for a morsel to eat: he had come fasting.

The poor thing pitied him with the surface of her agitated mind, and cooked a meal for him, trembling, and scarce knowing what she was about.

Ere he went he laid his hand upon her head, and said, “Be he alive, or be he dead, I look on thee as my daughter. Can I do nought for thee this day? bethink thee now?”

“Ay, old man. Pray for him; and for me!”

Eli sighed, and went sadly and heavily down the stairs.

She listened half stupidly to his retiring footsteps till they ceased. Then she sank moaning down by the cradle, and drew little Gerard tight to her bosom. “Oh, my poor fatherless boy; my fatherless boy!”