Oswald; "and do you, Margery, begin your story."
"I will," said she. "Just one-and-twenty years ago, on that very day, Ilost my first-born son; I got a hurt by over-reaching myself, when I wasnear my time, and so the poor child died. And so, as I was sitting allalone, and very melancholy, Andrew came home from work; 'See, Margery,'said he, 'I have brought you a child instead of that you have lost.'So he gave me a bundle, as I thought; but sure enough it was a child; apoor helpless babe just born, and only rolled up in a fine handkerchief,and over that a rich velvet cloak, trimmed with gold lace. 'And wheredid you find this?' says I. 'Upon the foot-bridge,' says he, 'just belowthe clayfield. This child,' said he, 'belongs to some great folk, andperhaps it may be enquired after one day, and may make our fortunes;take care of it,' said he, 'and bring it up as if it was your own.' Thepoor infant was cold, and it cried, and looked up at me so pitifully,that I loved it; beside, my milk was troublesome to me, and I was gladto be eased of it; so I gave it the breast, and from that hour I lovedthe child as if it were my own, and so I do still if I dared to own it."
"And this is all you know of Edmund's birth?" said Oswald.
"No, not all," said Margery; "but pray look out and see whether Andrewis coming, for I am all over in a twitter."
"He is not," said Oswald; "go on, I beseech you!"
"This happened," said she, "as I told you, on the 21st. On the morrow,my Andrew went out early to work, along with one Robin Rouse, ourneighbour; they had not been gone above an hour, when they both cameback seemingly very much frightened. Says Andrew, 'Go you, Robin, andborrow a pickaxe at neighbour Styles's.' What is the matter now?' saidI. 'Matter enough!' quoth Andrew; 'we may come to be hanged, perhaps, asmany an innocent man has before us.' 'Tell me what is the matter,' saidI. 'I will,' said he; 'but if ever you open your mouth about it, woe beto you!' 'I never will,' said I; but he made me swear by all the blessedsaints in the Calendar; and then he told me, that, as Robin and he weregoing over the foot-bridge, where he found the child the evening before,they saw something floating upon the water; so they followed it, till itstuck against a stake, and found it to be the dead body of a woman;'as sure as you are alive, Madge,' said he, 'this was the mother of thechild I brought home.'"
"Merciful God!" said Edmund; "am I the child of that hapless mother?"
"Be composed," said Oswald; "proceed, good woman, the time is precious."
"And so," continued she, "Andrew told me they dragged the body outof the river, and it was richly dressed, and must be somebody ofconsequence. 'I suppose,' said he, 'when the poor Lady had taken careof her child, she went to find some help; and, the night being dark, herfoot slipped, and she fell into the river, and was drowned.'
"'Lord have mercy!' said Robin, 'what shall we do with the dead body?we may be taken up for the murder; what had we to do to meddle with it?''Ay, but,' says Andrew, 'we must have something to do with it now; andour wisest way is to bury it.' Robin was sadly frightened, but at lastthey agreed to carry it into the wood, and bury it there; so they camehome for a pickaxe and shovel. 'Well,' said I, 'Andrew, but will youbury all the rich clothes you speak of?' 'Why,' said he, 'it would beboth a sin and a shame to strip the dead.' 'So it would,' said I; 'butI will give you a sheet to wrap the body in, and you may take off herupper garments, and any thing of value; but do not strip her to the skinfor any thing.' 'Well said, wench!' said he; 'I will do as you say.' SoI fetched a sheet, and by that time Robin was come back, and away theywent together.
"They did not come back again till noon, and then they sat down and atea morsel together. Says Andrew, 'Now we may sit down and eat in peace.''Aye,' says Robin, 'and sleep in peace too, for we have done no harm.''No, to be sure,' said I; 'but yet I am much concerned that the poorLady had not Christian burial.' 'Never trouble thyself about that,' saidAndrew; 'we have done the best we could for her; but let us see what wehave got in our bags; we must divide them.' So they opened their bags,and took out a fine gown and a pair of rich shoes; but, besides these,there was a fine necklace with a golden locket, and a pair of earrings.Says Andrew, and winked at me, 'I will have these, and you may take therest.' Robin said, he was satisfied, and so he went his way. When he wasgone, 'Here, you fool,' says Andrew, 'take these, and keep them as safeas the bud of your eye; If ever young master is found, these will makeour fortune.'"
"And have you them now?" said Oswald.
"Yes, that I have," answered she; "Andrew would have sold them long ago,but I always put him off it."
"Heaven be praised!" said Edmund.
"Hush," said Oswald, "let us not lose time; proceed, Goody!"
"Nay," said Margery, "I have not much more to say. We looked every dayto hear some enquiries after the child, but nothing passed, nobody wasmissing."
"Did nobody of note die about that time?" said Oswald.
"Why yes," said Margery, "the widow Lady Lovel died that same week;by the same token, Andrew went to the funeral, and brought home ascutcheon, which I keep unto this day."
"Very well; go on."
"My husband behaved well enough to the boy, till such time as he had twoor three children of his own; and then he began to grumble, and say, itwas hard to maintain other folks' children, when he found it hard enoughto keep his own; I loved the boy quite as well as my own; often andoften have I pacified Andrew, and made him to hope that he shouldone day or other be paid for his trouble; but at last he grew out ofpatience, and gave over all hopes of that kind.
"As Edmund grew up, he grew sickly and tender, and could not bear hardlabour; and that was another reason why my husband could not bear withhim. 'If,' quoth he, 'the boy could earn his living, I did not care;but I must bear all the expence.['] There came an old pilgrim into ourparts; he was a scholar, and had been a soldier, and he taught Edmundto read; then he told him histories of wars, and knights, and lords, andgreat men; and Edmund took such delight in hearing him, that he wouldnot take to any thing else.
"To be sure, Edwin was a pleasant companion; he would tell old stories,and sing old songs, that one could have sat all night to hear him; but,as I was a saying, Edmund grew more and more fond of reading, and lessof work; however, he would run of errands, and do many handy turns forthe neighbours; and he was so courteous a lad, that people took noticeof him. Andrew once catched him alone reading, and then told him, thatif he did not find some way to earn his bread, he would turn him out ofdoors in a very short time; and so he would have done, sure enough, ifmy Lord Fitz-Owen had not taken him into his service just in the nick."
"Very well, Goody," said Oswald; "you have told your story very well; Iam glad, for Edmund's sake, that you can do it so properly. But now, canyou keep a secret?"
"Why, an't please your reverence, I think I have shewed you that I can."
"But can you keep it from your husband?"
"Aye," said she, "surely I can; for I dare not tell it him."
"That is a good security," said he; "but I must have a better. You mustswear upon this book not to disclose any thing that has passed betweenus three, till we desire you to do it. Be assured you will soon becalled upon for this purpose; Edmund's birth is near the discovery; Heis the son of parents of high degree; and it will be in his power tomake your fortune, when he takes possession of his own."
"Holy Virgin! what is it you tell me? How you rejoice me to hear, thatwhat I have so long prayed for will come to pass!"
She took the oath required, saying it after Oswald.
"Now," said he, "go and fetch the tokens you have mentioned."
When she was gone, Edmund's passions, long suppressed, broke out intears and exclamations; he kneeled down, and, with his hands claspedtogether, returned thanks to Heaven for the discovery. Oswald beggedhim to be composed, lest Margery should perceive his agitation,and misconstrue the cause. She soon returned with the necklace andear-rings; They were pearls of great value; and the necklace had alocket, on which the cypher of Lovel was engraved.
"This," said Oswald, "is indeed a proof of consequence. Keep it, sir,for it
belongs to you."
"Must he take it away?" said she.
"Certainly," returned Oswald; "we can do nothing without it; but ifAndrew should ask for it, you must put him off for the present, andhereafter he will find his account in