CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
MAY EVE.
"The rich, the poor, the old, the young, Beyond the seas though born and bred, By prentices they suffered wrong, When armed thus they gather'd head." _Ill May Day_.
May Eve had come, and little Dennet Headley was full of plans for goingout early with her young play-fellows to the meadow to gather May dew inthe early morning, but her grandmother, who was in bed under a heavyattack of rheumatism, did not like the reports brought to her, anddeferred her consent to the expedition.
In the afternoon there were tidings that the Lord Mayor, Sir ThomasRest, had been sent for to my Lord Cardinal, who just at this time,during the building at York House, was lodging in his house close toTemple Bar. Some hours later a message came to Master Alderman Headleyto meet the Lord Mayor and the rest of the Council at the Guildhall. Heshook himself into his scarlet gown, and went off, puffing and blowing,and bidding Giles and Stephen take heed that they kept close, and raninto no mischief.
But they agreed, and Kit Smallbones with them, that there could be noharm in going into the open space of Cheapside and playing out a matchwith bucklers between Giles and Wat Ball, a draper's prentice who hadchallenged him. The bucklers were huge shields, and the weapons werewooden swords. It was an exciting sport, and brought out all the youthsof Cheapside in the summer evening, bawling out encouragement, andlaying wagers on either side. The curfew rang, but there were specialprivileges on May Eve, and the game went on louder than ever.
There was far too much noise for any one to hear the town crier, whowent along jingling his bell, and shouting, "O yes! O yes! O yes! Byorder of the Lord Mayor and Council, no householder shall allow any oneof his household to be abroad beyond his gate between the hours of nineo'clock at night and seven in the morning," or if any of the outermostheard it, as did Ambrose who was on his way home to his night quarters,they were too much excited not to turn a deaf ear to it.
Suddenly, however, just as Giles was preparing for a master-stroke, hewas seized roughly by the shoulder and bidden to give over. He lookedround. It was an alderman, not his master, but Sir John Mundy, anunpopular, harsh man.
"Wherefore?" demanded Giles.
"Thou shalt know," said the alderman, seizing his arm to drag him to theCounter prison, but Giles resisted. Wat Ball struck at Sir John's armwith his wooden sword, and as the alderman shouted for the watch andcity-guard, the lads on their side raised their cry, "Prentices andClubs! Flat-caps and Clubs!" Master Headley, struggling along, met hiscolleague, with his gown torn into shreds from his back, among a host ofwildly yelling lads, and panting, "Help, help, brother Headley!" Withgreat difficulty the two aldermen reached the door of the Dragon, whenceSmallbones sallied out to rescue them, and dragged them in.
"The boys!--the boys!" was Master Headley's first cry, but he might aswell have tried to detach two particular waves from a surging ocean ashis own especial boys from the multitude on that wild evening. Therewas no moon, and the twilight still prevailed, but it was dark enough tomake the confusion greater, as the cries swelled and numbers flowed intothe open space of Cheapside. In the words of Hall, the chronicler, "Outcame serving-men, and watermen, and courtiers, and by eleven of theclock there were six or seven hundreds in Cheap. And out of Pawle'sChurchyard came three hundred which wist not of the others." For themost part all was involved in the semi-darkness of the summer night, buthere and there light came from an upper window on some boyish face,perhaps full of mischief, perhaps somewhat bewildered and appalled.Here and there were torches, which cast a red glare round them, butwhose smoke blurred everything, and seemed to render the darknessdeeper.
Perhaps if the tumult had only been of the apprentices, provoked byAlderman Mundy's interference, they would soon have dispersed, but thethrong was pervaded by men with much deeper design, and a cry arose--noone knew from whence--that they would break into Newgate and set freeStudley and Bates.
By this time the torrent of young manhood was quite irresistible by anyforce that had yet been opposed to it. The Mayor and Sheriffs stood atthe Guildhall, and read the royal proclamation by the light of a waxcandle, held in the trembling hand of one of the clerks; but no oneheard or heeded them, and the uproar was increased as the doors ofNewgate fell, and all the felons rushed out to join the rioters.
At the same time another shout rose, "Down with the aliens!" and therewas a general rush towards Saint Martin's gate, in which direction manylived. There was, however, a pause here, for Sir Thomas More, Recorderof London, stood in the way before Saint Martin's gate, and with hisfull sweet voice began calling out and entreating the lads to go home,before any heads were broken more than could be mended again. He wasalways a favourite, and his good humour seemed to be making someimpression, when, either from the determination of the more evil-disposed, or because the inhabitants of Saint Martin's Lane werebeginning to pour down hot water, stones, and brickbats on the densemass of heads below them, a fresh access of fury seized upon the mob.Yells of, "Down with the strangers!" echoed through the narrow streets,drowning Sir Thomas's voice. A lawyer who stood with him was knockeddown and much hurt, the doors were battered down, and the householdstuff thrown from the windows. Here, Ambrose, who had hitherto beenpushed helplessly about, and knocked hither and thither, was driven upagainst Giles, and, to avoid falling and being trampled down, clutchedhold of him breathless and panting.
"Thou here!" exclaimed Giles. "Who would have thought of sober Ambrosein the midst of the fray? See here, Stevie!"
"Poor old Ambrose!" cried Stephen, "keep close to us! We'll see no harmcomes to thee. 'Tis hot work, eh?"
"Oh, Stephen! could I but get out of the throng to warn my master andMaster Michael!"
Those words seemed to strike Giles Headley. He might have cared littlefor the fate of the old printer, but as he heard the screams of thewomen in the houses around, he exclaimed, "Ay! there's the old man andthe little maid! We will have her to the Dragon!"
"Or to mine aunt's," said Ambrose.
"Have with thee then," said Giles: "Take his other arm, Steve;" andlocking their arms together the three fought and forced their way fromamong the plunderers in Saint Martin's with no worse mishap than ashower of hot water, which did not hurt them much through their stoutwoollen coats. They came at last to a place where they could breathe,and stood still a moment to recover from the struggle, and vituperatethe hot water.
Then they heard fresh howls and yells in front as well as behind.
"They are at it everywhere," exclaimed Stephen. "I hear them somewhereout by Cornhill."
"Ay, where the Frenchmen live that calender worsted," returned Giles."Come on; who knows how it is with the old man and little maid?"
"There's a sort in our court that are ready for aught," said Ambrose.
On they hurried in the darkness, which was now at the very deepest ofthe night; now and then a torch was borne across the street, and most ofthe houses had lights in the upper windows, for few Londoners slept onthat strange night. The stained glass of the windows of the Churchesbeamed in bright colours from the Altar lights seen through them, butthe lads made slower progress than they wished, for the streets werenever easy to walk in the dark, and twice they came on mobs assailinghouses, from the windows of one of which, French shoes and boots werebeing hailed down. Things were moderately quiet around Saint Paul's,but as they came into Warwick Lane they heard fresh shouts and wildcries, and at the archway leading to the inner yard they could see thatthere was a huge bonfire in the midst of the court--of what composedthey could not see for the howling figures that exulted round it.
"George Bates, the villain!" cried Stephen, as his enemy in exultingferocious delight was revealed for a moment throwing a book on the fire,and shouting, "Hurrah! there's for the old sorcerer, there's for theheretics!"
That instant Giles was flying on Bates, and Stephen, with equal, if notgreater fury, at one of his comrades; but Ambrose dashed through theoutskirts of the wildly screaming and sh
outing fellows, many of whomwere the miscreant population of the mews, to the black yawning doorwayof his master. He saw only a fellow staggering out with the screw ofthe press to feed the flame, and hurried on in the din to call, "Master,art thou there?"
There was no answer, and he moved on to the next door, calling againsoftly, while all the spoilers seemed absorbed in the fire and thecombat. "Master Michael! 'Tis I, Ambrose!"
"Here, my son," cautiously answered a voice he knew for Lucas Hansen's.
"Oh, master! master!" was his low, heart-stricken cry, as by the leapinglight of a flame he saw the pale face of the old printer, who drew himin.
"Yea! 'tis ruin, my son," said Lucas. "And would that that were theworst."
The light flashed and flickered through the broken window so thatAmbrose saw that the hangings had been torn down and everything wrecked,and a low sound as of stifled weeping directed his eyes to a cornerwhere Aldonza sat with her father's head on her lap. "Lives he? Is hegreatly hurt?" asked Ambrose, awe-stricken.
"The life is yet in him, but I fear me greatly it is passing fast," saidLucas, in a low voice. "One of those lads smote him on the back with aclub, and struck him down at the poor maid's feet, nor hath he movedsince. It was that one young Headley is fighting with," he added.
"Bates! ah! Would that we had come sooner! What! more of this work--"
For just then a tremendous outcry broke forth, and there was a rush andpanic among those who had been leaping round the fire just before. "Theguard!--the King's men!" was the sound they presently distinguished.They could hear rough abusive voices, shrieks and trampling of feet. Afew seconds more and all was still, only the fire remained, and in thestillness the suppressed sobs and moans of Aldonza were heard.
"A light! Fetch a light from the fire!" said Lucas.
Ambrose ran out. The flame was lessening, but he could see the darkbindings, and the blackened pages of the books he loved so well. Acorner of a page of Saint Augustine's Confessions was turned towards himand lay on a singed fragment of Aldonza's embroidered curtain, while alittle red flame was licking the spiral folds of the screw, trying, asit were, to gather energy to do more than blacken it. Ambrose couldhave wept over it at any other moment, but now he could only catch up abrand--it was the leg of his master's carved chair--and run back withit. Lucas ventured to light a lamp, and they could then see the oldman's face pale, but calm and still, with his long white beard flowingover his breast. There was no blood, no look of pain, only a set lookabout the eyes; and Aldonza cried, "Oh, father, thou art better! Speakto me! Let Master Lucas lift thee up!"
"Nay, my child. I cannot move hand or foot. Let me lie thus till theAngel of Death come for me. He is very near." He spoke in shortsentences. "Water--nay--no pain," he added then, and Ambrose ran forsome water in the first battered fragment of a tin pot he could find.They bathed his face and he gathered strength after a time to say, "Apriest!--oh for a priest to shrive and housel me."
"I will find one," said Ambrose, speeding out into the court overfragments of the beautiful work for which Abenali was hated, and overthe torn, half-burnt leaves of the beloved store of Lucas. The fire haddied down, but morning twilight was beginning to dawn, and all wasperfectly still after the recent tumult though for a moment or twoAmbrose heard some distant cries.
Where should he go? Priests indeed were plentiful, but both his friendswere in bad odour with the ordinary ones. Lucas had avoided both theLenten shrift and Easter Communion, and what Miguel might have done,Ambrose was uncertain. Some young priests had actually been among theforemost in sacking the dwellings of the unfortunate foreigners, andAmbrose was quite uncertain whether he might not fall on one of thatstamp--or on one who might vex the old man's soul--perhaps deny him theSacraments altogether. As he saw the pale lighted windows of SaintPaul's, it struck him to see whether any one were within. The lightmight be only from some of the tapers burning perpetually, but the palelight in the north-east, the morning chill, and the clock strikingthree, reminded him that it must be the hour of Prime, and he said tohimself, "Sure, if a priest be worshipping at this hour, he will be agood and merciful man. I can but try."
The door of the transept yielded to his hand. He came forward, lightedthrough the darkness by the gleam of the candles, which cast a huge andawful shadow from the crucifix of the rood-screen upon the pavement.Before it knelt a black figure in prayer. Ambrose advanced in some aweand doubt how to break in on these devotions, but the priest had heardhis step, rose and said, "What is it, my son? Dost thou seek sanctuaryafter these sad doings?"
"Nay, reverend sir," said Ambrose. "'Tis a priest for a dying man Iseek;" and in reply to the instant question, where it was, he explainedin haste who the sufferer was, and how he had received a fatal blow, andwas begging for the Sacraments. "And oh, sir!" he added, "he is a holyand God-fearing man, if ever one lived, and hath been cruelly and foullyentreated by jealous and wicked folk, who hated him for his skill andindustry."
"Alack for the unhappy lads; and alack for those who egged them on,"said the priest. "Truly they knew not what they did. I will come withthee, my good youth. Thou hast not been one of them?"
"No, truly sir, save that I was carried along and could not break fromthe throng. I work for Lucas Hansen, the Dutch printer, whom they havelikewise plundered in their savage rage."
"'Tis well. Thou canst then bear this," said the priest, taking a thickwax candle. Then reverently advancing to the Altar, whence he took thepyx, or gold case in which the Host was reserved, he lighted the candle,which he gave, together with his stole, to the youth to bear before him.
Then, when the light fell full on his features, Ambrose with a strangethrill of joy and trust perceived that it was no other than Dean Colet,who had here been praying against the fury of the people. He was verythankful, feeling intuitively that there was no fear but that Abenaliwould be understood, and for his own part, the very contact with the manwhom he revered seemed to calm and soothe him, though on that solemnerrand no word could be spoken. Ambrose went on slowly before, his darkhead uncovered, the priestly stole hanging over his arm, his handsholding aloft the tall candle of virgin wax, while the Dean followedclosely with feeble steps, looking frail and worn, but with a grave,sweet solemnity on his face. It was a perfectly still morning, and asthey slowly paced along, the flame burnt steadily with littleflickering, while the pure, delicately-coloured sky overhead wasbecoming every moment lighter, and only the larger stars were visible.The houses were absolutely still, and the only person they met, a ladcreeping homewards after the fray, fell on his knees bareheaded as heperceived their errand. Once or twice again sounds came up from thecity beneath, like shrieks or wailing breaking strangely on that fairpeaceful May morn; but still that pair went on till Ambrose had guidedthe Dean to the yard, where, except that the daylight was revealing moreand more of the wreck around, all was as he had left it. Aldonza, poorchild, with her black hair hanging loose like a veil, for she had beenstartled from her bed, still sat on the ground making her lap a pillowfor the white-bearded head, nobler and more venerable than ever. On itlay, in the absolute immobility produced by the paralysing blow, thefine features already in the solemn grandeur of death, and only themovement of the lips under the white flowing beard and of the dark eyesshowing life.
Dean Colet said afterwards that he felt as if he had been called to thedeath-bed of Israel, or of Barzillai the Gileadite, especially when theold man, in the Oriental phraseology he had never entirely lost, said,"I thank Thee, my God, and the God of my fathers, that Thou hast grantedme that which I had prayed for."
The Dutch printer was already slightly known to the Dean, having soldhim many books. A few words were exchanged with him, but it was plainthat the dying man could not be moved, and that his confession must bemade on the lap of the young girl. Colet knelt over him so as to beable to hear, while Lucas and Ambrose withdrew, but were soon calledback for the remainder of the service for the dying. The old man's faces
howed perfect peace. All worldly thought and care seemed to have beencrushed out of him by the blow, and he did not even appear to think ofthe unprotected state of his daughter, although he blessed her withsolemn fervour immediately after receiving the Viaticum--then laymurmuring to himself sentences which Ambrose, who had learnt much fromhim, knew to be from his Arabic breviary about palm-branches, and thetwelve manner of fruits of the Tree of Life.
It was a strange scene--the grand, calm, patriarchal old man, sopeaceful on his dark-haired daughter's lap in the midst of the shatteredhome in the old feudal stable. All were silent a while in awe, but theDean was the first to move and speak, calling Lucas forward to asksundry questions of him.
"Is there no good woman," he asked, "who could be with this poor childand take her home, when her father shall have passed away?"
"Mine uncle's wife, sir," said Ambrose, a little doubtfully. "I trowshe would come--since I can certify her that your reverence holds himfor a holy man."
"I had thy word for it," said the Dean. "Ah! reply not, my son, I seewell how it may be with you here. But tell those who will take the wordof John Colet that never did I mark the passing away of one who hadborne more for the true holy Catholic faith, nor held it more to hissoul's comfort."
For the Dean, a man of vivid intelligence, knew enough of the Morescopersecutions to be able to gather from the words of Lucas and Ambrose,and the confession of the old man himself, a far more correct estimateof Abenali's sufferings, and constancy to the truth, than any of themore homebred wits could have divined. He knew, too, that his ownorthodoxy was so called in question by the narrower and more unspiritualsection of the clergy that only the appreciative friendship of the Kingand the Cardinal kept him securely in his position.
Ambrose sped away, knowing that Perronel would be quite satisfied. Hewas sure of her ready compassion and good-will, but she had so oftenbewailed his running after learning and possibly heretical doctrine,that he had doubted whether she would readily respond to a summons, onhis own authority alone, to one looked on with so much suspicion asMaster Michael. Colet intimated his intention of remaining a littlelonger to pray with the dying man, and further wrote a few words on histablets, telling Ambrose to leave them with one of the porters at hishouse as he went past Saint Paul's.
It was broad daylight now, a lovely May morning, such as generallycalled forth the maidens, small and great, to the meadows to rub theirfresh cheeks with the silvery dew, and to bring home kingcups, cuckooflowers, blue bottles, and cowslips for the Maypoles that were to bedecked. But all was silent now, not a house was open, the rising sunmade the eastern windows of the churches a blaze of light, and from thewest door of Saint Paul's the city beneath seemed sleeping, only awreath or two of smoke rising. Ambrose found the porter looking out forhis master in much perturbation. He groaned as he looked at thetablets, and heard where the Dean was, and said that came of being asaint on earth. It would be the death of him ere long! What would oldMistress Colet, his mother, say? He would have detained the youth withhis inquiries, but Ambrose said he had to speed down to the Temple on anerrand from the Dean, and hurried away. All Ludgate Hill was now quiet,every house closed, but here and there lay torn shreds of garments, orhousehold vessels.
As he reached Fleet Street, however, there was a sound of horses' feet,and a body of men-at-arms with helmets glancing in the sun were seen.There was a cry, "There's one! That's one of the lewd younglings! Athim!"
And Ambrose to his horror and surprise saw two horsemen begin to galloptowards him, as if to ride him down. Happily he was close to a narrowarchway leading to an alley down which no war-horse could possibly makeits way, and dashing into it and round a corner, he eluded his pursuers,and reached the bank of the river, whence, being by this timeexperienced in the by-ways of London, he could easily reach Perronel'shouse.
She was standing at her door looking out anxiously, and as she saw himshe threw up her hands in thanksgiving to our Lady that here he was atlast, and then turned to scold him. "O lad, lad, what a night thou hastgiven me! I trusted at least that thou hadst wit to keep out of a frayand to let the poor aliens alone, thou that art always running afteryonder old Spaniard. Hey! what now? Did they fall on him! Fie! Shameon them!--a harmless old man like that."
"Yea, good aunt, and what is more, they have slain him, I fear me,outright."
Amidst many a "good lack" and exclamation of pity and indignation fromPerronel, Ambrose told his tale of that strange night, and entreated herto come with him to do what was possible for Abenali and his daughter.She hesitated a little; her kind heart was touched, but she hardly likedto leave her house, in case her husband should come in, as he generallycontrived to do in the early morning, now that the Cardinal's householdwas lodged so near her. Sheltered as she was by the buildings of theTemple, she had heard little or nothing of the noise of the riot, thoughshe had been alarmed at her nephew's absence, and an officious neighbourhad run in to tell her first that the prentice lads were up and sackingthe houses of the strangers, and next that the Tower was firing on them,and the Lord Mayor's guard and the gentlemen of the Inns of Court wereup in arms to put them down. She said several times, "Poor soul!" and,"Yea, it were a shame to leave her to the old Dutchkin," but with trueFlemish deliberation she continued her household arrangements, andinsisted that the bowl of broth, which she set on the table, should bepartaken of by herself and Ambrose before she would stir a step. "Noteat! Now out on thee, lad! what good dost thou think thou or I can doif we come in faint and famished, where there's neither bite nor sup tobe had? As for me, not a foot will I budge, till I have seen thee emptythat bowl. So to it, my lad! Thou hast been afoot all night, andlookst so grimed and ill-favoured a varlet that no man would think thoucamest from an honest wife's house. Wash thee at the pail! Get theeinto thy chamber and put on clean garments, or I'll not walk the streetwith thee! 'Tis not safe--thou wilt be put in ward for one of therioters."
Everybody who entered that little house obeyed Mistress Randall, andAmbrose submitted, knowing it vain to resist, and remembering thepursuit he had recently escaped; yet the very refreshment of food andcleanliness revealed to him how stiff and weary were his limbs, thoughhe was in no mood for rest. His uncle appeared at the door just as hehad hoped Perronel was ready.
"Ah! there's one of you whole and safe!" he exclaimed. "Where is theother?"
"Stephen?" exclaimed Ambrose. "I saw him last in Warwick Inner Ward."And in a few words he explained. Hal Randall shook his head. "May allbe well," he exclaimed, and then he told how Sir Thomas Parr had come atmidnight and roused the Cardinal's household with tidings that all therabble of London were up, plundering and murdering all who came in theirway, and that he had then ridden on to Richmond to the King with thenews. The Cardinal had put his house into a state of defence, notknowing against whom the riot might be directed--and the jester had notbeen awakened till too late to get out to send after his wife, besideswhich, by that time, intelligence had come in that the attack wasdirected entirely on the French and Spanish merchants and artificers indistant parts of the city and suburbs, and was only conducted by ladswith no better weapons than sticks, so that the Temple and its precinctswere in no danger at all.
The mob had dispersed of its own accord by about three or four o'clock,but by that hour the Mayor had got together a force, the Gentlemen ofthe Inns of Court and the Yeomen of the Tower were up in arms, and theEarl of Shrewsbury had come in with a troop of horse. They had met therioters, and had driven them in herds like sheep to the differentprisons, after which Lord Shrewsbury had come to report to the Cardinalthat all was quiet, and the jester having gathered as much intelligenceas he could, had contrived to slip into the garments that concealed hismotley, and to reach home. He gave ready consent to Perronel's going tothe aid of the sufferers in Warwick Inner Ward, especially at thesummons of the Dean of Saint Paul's, and even to her bringing home thelittle wench. Indeed, he would escort her thither himself, for he wasvery anxious about
Stephen, and Ambrose was so dismayed by the accounthe gave as to reproach himself extremely for having parted company withhis brother, and never having so much as thought of him as in peril,while absorbed in care for Abenali. So the three set out together, whenno doubt the sober, solid appearance which Randall's double suit ofapparel and black gown gave him, together with his wife's matronly andrespectable look, were no small protection to Ambrose, for men-at-armswere prowling about the streets, looking hungry to pick up stragglingvictims; and one actually stopped Randall to interrogate him as to whothe youth was, and what was his errand.
Before Saint Paul's they parted, the husband and wife going towardsWarwick Inner Ward, whither Ambrose, fleeter of foot, would follow, sosoon as he had ascertained at the Dragon court whether Stephen was athome.
Alas! at the gate he was hailed with the inquiry whether he had seen hisbrother or Giles. The whole yard was disorganised, no work going on.The lads had not been seen all night, and the master himself had in themidst of his displeasure and anxiety been summoned to the Guildhall.The last that was known was Giles's rescue, and the assault on AldermanMundy. Smallbones and Steelman had both gone in different directions tosearch for the two apprentices, and Dennet, who had flown down unheededand unchecked at the first hope of news, pulled Ambrose by the sleeve,and exclaimed, "Oh! Ambrose, Ambrose! they can never hurt them! Theycan never do any harm to _our_ lads, can they?"
Ambrose hoped for the same security, but in his dismay, could only hurryafter his uncle and aunt.
He found the former at the door of the old stable--whence issued wildscreams and cries. Several priests and attendants were there now, andthe kind Dean with Lucas was trying to induce Aldonza to relax the graspwith which she embraced the body, whence a few moments before the braveand constant spirit had departed. Her black hair hanging over like aveil, she held the inanimate head to her bosom, sobbing and shriekingwith the violence of her Eastern nature. The priest who had been sentfor to take care of the corpse, and bear it to the mortuary of theMinster, wanted to move her by force; but the Dean insisted on one moregentle experiment, and beckoned to the kindly woman, whom he sawadvancing with eyes full of tears. Perronel knelt down by her,persevered when the poor girl stretched out her hand to beat her off,crying, "Off! go! Leave me my father! O father, father, joy of mylife! my one only hope and stay, leave me not! Wake! wake, speak to thychild, O my father!"
Though the child had never seen or heard of Eastern wailings over thedead, yet hereditary nature prompted her to the lamentations thatscandalised the priests and even Lucas, who broke in with, "Fie, maid,thou mournest as one who hath no hope." But Dr Colet still signed tothem to have patience, and Perronel somehow contrived to draw the girl'shead on her breast and give her a motherly kiss, such as the poor childhad never felt since she, when almost a babe, had been lifted from herdying mother's side in the dark stifling hold of the vessel in the Bayof Biscay. And in sheer surprise and sense of being soothed she ceasedher cries, listened to the tender whispers and persuasions about holymen who would care for her father, and his wishes that she should be agood maid--till at last she yielded, let her hands be loosed, allowedPerronel to lift the venerable head from her knee, and close the eyes--then to gather her in her arms, and lead her to the door, taking her,under Ambrose's guidance, into Lucas's abode, which was as utterly andmournfully dismantled as their own, but where Perronel, accustomed inher wandering days to all sorts of contrivances, managed to bind up thestreaming hair, and, by the help of her own cloak, to bring the poorgirl into a state in which she could be led through the streets.
The Dean meantime had bidden Lucas to take shelter at his own house, andthe old Dutchman had given a sort of doubtful acceptance.
Ambrose, meanwhile, half distracted about his brother, craved counsel ofthe jester where to seek him.
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