She had seen a witch burned once. It was a young woman with long black hair and blue eyes. She was tied to a stake surrounded by dry brushwood and hay to the whistles and curses of the crowd, wearing only a torn lower dress, and soon only a charcoal silhouette remained. It seemed to Brigid that she was the witch, that it was her body that was greedily devoured by the flames.

– Alienor, farewell, sister! William, my love…" the girl whispered faintly. – God save the Queen!

A moment later she was swallowed up by darkness.

When the girl opened her eyes again, the sun had already set behind the horizon, and evening twilight was descending on England. But Brigid could not realise how long she had been unconscious: the large windows of her chambers were tightly closed with dark curtains. The scent of hay and flowers could be clearly heard in the air: it was the girl's mother who had ordered the floor to be laid to lighten her daughter's plight and to add freshness to the stale air of the small chambers. The fire burned hotly in the fireplace, and beside it, asleep in an armchair, sat Lady Guise. Only the flame of the fireplace lit the room, but it was enough to chase away the darkness, and the semi-darkness was even pleasant to Brigid's tired eyes.

Brigid found the strength to raise herself slightly on the pillows and found herself lying in bed in only her nightgown, her hair braided to keep it out of the way.

"Then I am still alive… But how my whole body aches! Every bone in my body aches!" – involuntarily flashed through the girl's mind. Despite the pain, Brigid felt a little better: the fever that had been burning her was gone, but her skin was still hot and clammy, and her nightgown was sticking unpleasantly to her body.

– Mother! Mother, is that you? – The girl asked quietly. Her voice sounded harsh and breathy, but Lady Guise did not move: she was sound asleep. – Mother! – With all the strength left in her from the attack, Brigid repeated, and this time the tired woman slowly opened her eyes. – Mother! How glad I am that you are here! – Brigid whispered loudly, and tried to stretch out her hand to her mother.

– Lie still, my child, do not move! – said Lady Guise affectionately, hastily rising from her chair and approaching her daughter. She knelt at the headboard of the bed, not sparing the velvet skirt of her dress, and took her daughter's palm in her own. – 'We were frightened! You had a stroke, and there was nothing we could do! – She sobbed and gently stroked Brigid's face, pale and hot.

When Lady Guise heard that Brigid was taken ill, that she seemed to have had a fit of fever, she hurried to her, forgetting the King and Queen and breakfast. She had been cruel to her daughter, and had never found an affectionate word for her, but now that her daughter was on her deathbed, the maternal love that had been hiding deep in her soul engulfed her whole being. She spent the whole day in Brigid's room, never leaving her side, undressing her herself and changing her into her nightgown, wetting her forehead with wet cloths, and praying fervently. It was not until evening, when Brigid had ceased to toss and turn in bed, that Lady Guise allowed herself a little rest in the armchair by the fireplace, and as soon as she sat down she fell asleep. Like her husband, this woman was suffering every second from the loss of her beloved son, and the possible loss of her daughter made her exactly what a mother should be – loving and caring.

– Is the father very angry? – A faint smile appeared on Brigid's lips: she had never in her life seen her mother so… So close, so tender to her.