She put the cup to her lips, and sipped a drop or two; but her dove's eyes were looking up at him over the liquor all the time. Griffith soon disposed of the rest; and asked for more. "Nay," said she, "but I dare not: the doctor hath forbidden excess in drinking." "The doctor! what doctor?" "Doctor Paul," said she, demurely. "He hath saved your life, sir, I do think." "Plague take him for that!" "So say not I." Here she left him with an excuse. "'Tis milking time, sir: and you shall know that I am our dairymaid. I seldom trouble the inn." Next day she was on the window-seat, working and beaming. The patient called to her in peevish accents to put his head higher. She laid down her work with a smile, and came and raised his head. "There, now, that is too high," said he: "how awkward you are." "I lack experience, sir, but not good will. There, now, is that a little better?" "Ay, a little. I'm sick of lying here: I want to get up. Dost hear what I say? I--want--to get up." "And so you shall. As soon as ever you are fit. To-morrow, perhaps. To-day, you must e'en be patient. Patience is a rare medicine." Tic, tic, tic! "What a noise they are making downstairs. Go, lass, and bid them hold their peace." Mercy shook her head. "Good lack-a-day! we might as well bid the river give over running; but, to be sure, this comes of keeping a hostelry, sir. When we had only the farm, we were quiet, and did no ill to no one." "Well, sing me, to drown their eternal buzzing: it worries me dead." "Me sing! alack, sir, I'm no songster." "That is false. You sing like a throstle. I dote on music; and, when I was delirious, I heard one singing about my bed; I thought it was an angel at that time; but 'twas only you, my young mistress: and now I ask you, you say me nay. That is the way with you all. Plague take the girl, and all her curst, unreasonable, hypocritical sex. I warrant me you'd sing if I wanted to sleep; and dance the devil to a standstill." Mercy, instead of flouncing out of the room, stood looking on him with maternal eyes, and chuckling like a bird. "That is right, sir: tax us all to your heart's content. O, but I'm a joyful woman to hear you; for 'tis a sure sign of mending when the sick take to rating of their nurses." "In sooth, I am too cross-grained," said Griffith, relenting. "Not a whit, sir, for my taste. I've been in care for you: and now you are a little cross, that maketh me easy." "Thou art a good soul. Wilt sing me a stave after all?" "La, you now; how you come back to that. Ay, and with a good heart: for, to be sure, 'tis a sin to gainsay a sick man. But indeed I am the homeliest singer. Methinks 'tis time I went down and bade them cook your worship's supper." "Nay, I'll not eat nor sup, till I hear thee sing."