“There!  See but what I said!” quoth Mrs. Rotherford, uplifting a skinny finger to emphasise that the poor little flotsome had already brought evil.

“Nay,” said the portly wife of a merchant, “begging your pardon, this may be a fat instead of a lean sorrow.  Leaves the poor gentleman heirs, Mrs. Talbot?”

“Oh no!” said Susan, with tears in her eyes.  “His wife died two years back, and her chrisom babe with her.  He loved her too well to turn his mind to wed again, and now he is with her for aye.”  And she covered her face and sobbed, regardless of the congratulations of the merchant’s wife, and exclaiming, “Oh! the poor old lady!”

“In sooth, mistress,” said Nathanael, who had stood all this time as if he had by no means emptied his budget of ill news, “poor old madam fell down all of a heap on the floor, and when the wenches lifted her, they found she was stricken with the dead palsy, and she has not spoken, and there’s no one knows what to do, for the poor old squire is like one distraught, sitting by her bed like an image on a monument, with the tears flowing down his old cheeks.  ‘But,’ says he to me, ’get you to Hull, Nat, and take madam’s palfrey and a couple of sumpter beasts, and bring my good daughter Talbot back with you as fast as she and the babes may brook.’  I made bold to say, ’And Master Richard, your worship?’ then he groaned somewhat, and said, ’If my son’s ship be come in, he must do as her Grace’s service permits, but meantime he must spare us his wife, for she is sorely needed here.’  And he looked at the bed so as it would break your heart to see, for since old Nurse Took hath been doited, there’s not been a wench about the house that can do a hand’s turn for a sick body.”

Susan knew this was true, for her mother-in-law had been one of those bustling, managing housewives, who prefer doing everything themselves to training others, and she was appalled at the idea of the probable desolation and helplessness of the bereaved household.

It was far too late to start that day, even had her husband been at home, for the horses sent for her had to rest.  The visitors would fain have extracted some more particulars about the old squire’s age, his kindred to the great Earl, and the amount of estate to which her husband had become heir.  There were those among them who could not understand Susan’s genuine grief, and there were others whose consolations were no less distressing to one of her reserved character.  She made brief answer that the squire was threescore and fifteen years old, his wife nigh about his age; that her husband was now their only child; that he was descended from a son of the great Earl John, killed at the Bridge of Chatillon, that he held the estate of Bridgefield in fief on tenure of military service to the head of his family.  She did not know how much it was worth by the year, but she must pray the good ladies to excuse her, as she had many preparations to make.  Volunteers to assist her in packing her mails were made, but she declined them all, and rejoiced when left alone with Colet to arrange for what would be probably her final departure from Hull.