In fact, Lambert Groot, which was his real name, though English lips
had made it Groats, belonged to one of the prosperous guilds of the
great merchant city of Bruges, but he had offended his family by his
determination to marry the deaf, and almost dumb, portionless orphan
daughter of an old friend and contemporary, and to save her from the
scorn and slights of his relatives--though she was quite as well-born
as themselves--he had migrated to England, where Wearmouth and
Sunderland had a brisk trade with the Low Countries. These cities
enjoyed the cultivation of the period, and this room, daintily clean
and fresh, seemed to Grisell more luxurious than any she had seen
since the Countess of Warwick's. A silver bowl of warm soup,
extracted from the pot au feu, was served to her by the Hausfrau, on
a little table, spread with a fine white cloth edged with embroidery,
with an earnest gesture begging her to partake, and a slender Venice
glass of wine was brought to her with a cake of wheaten bread. Much
did Grisell wish she could have transferred such refreshing fare to
Bernard. She ventured to ask "Master Poticary" whether he sold
"Balsam of Egypt." He was interested at once, and asked whether it
were for her own use.
"Nay, good master, you are thinking of my face; but that was a burn
long ago healed. It is for my poor little brother."
Therewith Grisell and Master Groats entered on a discussions of
symptoms, drugs, ointments, and ingredients, in which she learnt a
good deal and perhaps disclosed more of Sister Avice's methods than
Wilton might have approved.
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