then befell.
The barne capered about and clapped her hands, crying, "Supper! supper!
now we shall have meat!" but Hilda covered her eyes with her void hand,
and sobbed as though her heart should break.

"God Almighty bless you, kind Dame!" said she, when as she could speak
again. "I was nearhand in utter mishope [nearly in despair]. Now my
mother can have food and physic, and maybe, if it please God, she shall
recover. May I be forgiven, but I was beginning to think the good God
cared not for poor folks like us, or maybe that there was no God to care
at all."

Down came Meliora with my hood and mantle, which I cast all hastily
about me, and then said I to Hilda--

"My maid, I would fain see thy mother; maybe I could do her some good;
and mine husband here will go with us for a guard. Lead on."

"God bless you!" she said yet again. "He _must_ have heard me." The
last words were spoken lowly, as to herself.

We went forth of the great gates, and traversed the good streets, and
came into divers little alleys that skirt the road near Saint Denis'
Gate. In one of these Hilda turned into an house--a full poor hut it
was--and led me up degrees into a poor chamber, whither the child ran
gleefully afore. Jack left me at the door, he and I having covenanted,
when we whispered together, what he should do whilst I visited Hilda's
mother.

Little Iolande ran forward into the chamber, crying, "Supper! supper!
Mother and Madeleine, Hilda has money for supper!"

What I then beheld was a poor pallet, but ill covered with a thin
coverlet, whereon lay a pale, weak woman, that seemed full ill at ease,
yet I thought scarce so much sick of body as sick at heart and faint
with fasting and sorrow. At the end of the pallet sat a child something
elder than Iolande, but a child still. There was no form in the
chamber, but Hilda brought forward an old box, whereon she cast a clean
apron, praying me to sit, and to pardon them that this should be the
best they had to offer. I sat me down, making no matter thereof, for in
very deed I was full of pity for these poor creatures.

The mother, as was but like, took me for Dame Elizabeth, and began to
thank me for having paid my debts--at long last, she might have said.
But afore I could gainsay it, Hilda saith warmly--

"Oh no, Mother! This is not the lady that ought the money. Madame here
is good--so good! and that lady--she has no heart in her, I think."

"Not very good, Hilda,