"He is a good man, I think. He does not know what it costs you. Somebody must, and it had better be you."Abigail did not answer her. She saw her to the door, and thanked her, and went back to the range, and stood there until the light went.She told him that night. He was on the stool with the cat on his knee and the second herring on its saucer in the pantry untouched, and she did not turn round from the range, because she could not have said it to his face."I'll not walk down with the cat any more, Your Grace. Nor you. I'll send Jacky with her in the morning. It's a boy's job." A breath. "There's a book on it in the tap-room. On me. Mrs. Pilbeam has heard the odds, and so has the church path, and so will Norfolk, and I've a name to keep in this village when you've gone home, and I mean to keep it."He did not say anything for a while. The cat did not move. Then he said, in the low voice, the one for the cat: "Your range smokes.""It's cracked at the back. It has been since my mother.""Let me buy you a range.""No," said Abigail Tinsley, and turned round, and her face was not what her voice had been. "No. Not a range, and not anything, Your Grace, not for me. If you must buy a thing, the forge roof leaks over the coal-house, and the duchess has no time for it, and it would be a kindness. Buy that.""I'll buy that," said the Duke of Walsingham. And then, because she had asked him and it was the one word: "Yes. Jacky. In the morning."