"Oh! don't do nothing of that sort," cried she, mistaking his meaning; "getting killed a'n't the way to right her; and this I will say, that a better lady never lived—and in the hearts of the poor; the best home to have, after all. But it a'n't a thing I'm component to judge, Master Miles; for foreigners, they say, don't see them things as we do."
"Well," he replied, reseating himself, and passing his hand over his brow; "let's change the subject, it always pains me; but her day of retribution will come—my sainted mother!" and involuntarily he raised his hat, in reverential awe, as if an angel were looking down upon him.
"Don't be cast down, Master Miles," said the woman, "and don't talk on them miserable subjecs, all in the dark here, as one may say; it makes one oncomfortable and queer. Now, tell me, what do you want with me?"
"I want to see Miss Dalzell. Can you manage that for me?"
"Mussiful powers! no," she exclaimed, in surprise and horror.
"It must be accomplished somehow, Mrs. Gillett; see her I must."
"Well, if I didn't think so!" she said, thinking aloud of what she had previously hinted to Sylvia.
"Think what—what do you mean?"
"Oh nothink, nothink—there, do go; pray, do'e go!" she energetically cried, alarmed at the phantom her imagination had conjured up. "It won't do, depend upon it; they would stir up the whole earth to find and punish you, if you did it; for she's the darling of all, and they'd all ignite against you—lawyer, parson, squire, master, mississes, and all!"
"In the name of patience, my good Mrs. Gillett, what do you mean?" he asked laughing.