“Have the maid wedded at once, ere any harm come of it,” returned Perronel promptly. “She will make a good wife—there will be no complaining of her tongue, and she is well instructed in all good housewifery.” “To whom then would you give her?” asked Tibble. “Ay, that’s the question. Comely and good she is, but she is outlandish, and I fear me ’twould take a handsome portion to get her dark skin and Moorish blood o’erlooked. Nor hath she aught, poor maid, save yonder gold and pearl earrings, and a cross of gold that she says her father bade her never part with.” “I pledged my word to her father,” said Tibble, “that I would have a care of her. I have not cared to hoard, having none to come after me, but if a matter of twenty or five-and-twenty marks would avail—” “Wherefore not take her yourself?” said Perronel, as he stood aghast. “She is a maid of sweet obedient conditions, trained by a scholar even like yourself. She would make your chamber fair and comfortable, and tend you dutifully.” “Whisht, good woman. ’Tis too dark to see, or you could not speak of wedlock to such as I. Think of the poor maid!” “That is all folly! She would soon know you for a better husband than one of those young feather-pates, who have no care but of themselves.” “Nay, mistress,” said Tibble, gravely, “your advice will not serve here. To bring that fair young wench hither, to this very court, mind you, with a mate loathly to behold as I be, and with the lad there ever before her, would be verily to give place to the devil.” “But you are the best sword-cutler in London. You could make a living without service.” “I am bound by too many years of faithful kindness to quit my master or my home at the Dragon,” said Tibble. “Nay, that will not serve, good friend.” “Then what can be done?” asked Perronel, somewhat in despair. “There are the young sparks at the Temple. One or two of them are already beginning to cast eyes at her, so that I dare not let her help me carry home my basket, far less go alone. ’Tis not the wench’s fault. She shrinks from men’s eyes more than any maid I ever saw, but if she bide long with me, I wot not what may come of it. There be rufflers there who would not stick to carry her off!” Tibble stood considering, and presently said, “Mayhap the Dean might aid thee in this matter. He is free of hand and kind of heart, and belike he would dower the maid, and find an honest man to wed her.” Perronel thought well of the suggestion, and decided that after the mass on All Soul’s Day, and the general visiting of the graves of kindred, she would send Aldonza home with Dennet, whom they were sure to meet in the Pardon Churchyard, since her mother, as well as Abenali and Martin Fulford lay there; and herself endeavour to see Dean Colet, who was sure to be at home, as he was hardly recovered from an attack of the prevalent disorder.