Grisell indeed was worn down with long
watching and grief, and looked haggard and drawn so as to enhance all
her scars and distortion of feature into more uncomeliness than her
wont. She saw him shudder a little, but his lame arm and wan looks
interested her kind heart. "I fear me you are still feeling your
wound, sir," she said, in the sweet voice which was evidently a
surprise to him.
"It is my plea for having been a slug-a-bed this morning," he
answered.
They sat down at the table. Grisell between Ridley and Hardcastle,
the servants and men-at-arms beyond. Porridge and broth and very
small ale were the fare, and salted meat would be for supper, and as
Grisell knew but too well already, her own retainers were grumbling
at the voracious appetites of the men-at-arms as much as did their
unwilling guests at the plainness and niggardliness of the supply.
Thora had begged for a further allowance of beer for them, or even to
broach a cask of wine. "For," said she, "they are none such fiends
as we thought, if one knows how to take them courteously."
"There is no need that you should have any dealings with them,
Thora," said her lady, with some displeasure; "Master Ridley sees to
their provision."
Thora tossed up her head a little and muttered something about not
being mewed out of sight and speech of all men. And when she
attended her lady to the hall there certainly were glances between
her and a slim young archer.
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