"Peace!" said she. "Your father hath consented to wait till the morrow morn. Now, if ye are not minded to have a step-dame ruling here, make haste to strip me of these fine clothes, and show me a way to depart softly while 't is yet dark."
For answer, Calote took off the bright cap from her head and kicked away the crimson shoes. Then distance set to work hastily to undo the gown, and the dagger fell out and rattled to the floor. Godiyeva carried it to the light, looked at it, and brought it back, but asked no question.
"Why dost thou wear this bag under thy gown?" said Custance.
"For safety, madame," Calote replied, and thrust her arms into the sleeves of her old russet.
Custance still held the bag, but no one dared ask further.
"I will take her down the other stair to the water-gate and put her in the boat," said Godiyeva.
"God and Saint Mary bless thee!" whispered Eleyne, and would have pressed silver into her hand, but Calote shook her head and smiled.
At the water-gate there floated a little boat, and Godiyeva got into this with her and sent it across the moat in three strong shoves of a pole.
"Which way is the shepherd's way, where the flock is?" asked Calote.
"To southward of here," Godiyeva answered; and then, "I repent me of that name I called thee."
"Dear lady," said Calote, "I 'll pray Christ Jesus and Mary his mother, that they send thee happiness."
So she went away into the night, beneath the pale shine of a waning moon, and Godiyeva crossed the moat, and climbed the stair.
"'T was a hunting horn she had in her bag," whispered Custance. "I felt the form of it under the flannel. Dost believe she 's that chaste fairy lady, Dian, the poets sing?"
"Nay, she 's a woman, like to us," said Godiyeva, and lay down on her bed.
Out on the wolds Diggon and the peddler had built a fire to warm a new-born lamb. The while they sat with their arms about their knees, looking into the fire, they spoke of Christ's Passion, and death. Said the peddler, out of the Vision:--
"'One like to the Samaritan and a little like to Piers the Plowman, Barefoot on an asse's back, bootless, came riding, Without spurs or spear, sprightly he looked, As is the manner of a knight that cometh to be dubbed. "This Jesus, of his noble birth, will joust in Piers' arms, In his helm and his habergeon--_humana natura_; In Piers Plowman's jacket this pricker shall ride."'"