“Woman!” he cried, in a voice husky with rage, “what doth this mean? Who hath been here, I say?”
“Dost think I would wrong thee, then?” answered the dame. “No! no!—not for my life!”
“Who hath been here?” demanded Shedlock, seizing her by the collar of her bodice.
“Nay, never hurt me, husband!” replied the dame, shrinking a little. “Only say thou wilt forgive me—say thou wilt not be angered, and I will tell thee.”
“Woman! I have a mind to dash thee down,” rejoined Shedlock, giving her a slight shake, “and to trample thee under foot, as the angels of darkness trample on Judas. But I will forbear, and the Spirit, through the mercy of the Lord, shall hold me back. Who hath been here?”
His small ferret-like eyes glared fearfully on her face, and there was a red flush on his brow, just beneath the brim of his hat, that made the dame tremble. Still she resolved to tell him the truth, though she knew that, in his present mood, it would draw down upon her head the full fury of his anger.
“Do me no harm, husband!” she said. “’Twas the man Bernard Gray.”
“Ah!” cried Shedlock.
“Indeed, dear, I sought him not,” said the dame, earnestly. “He was standing here, as I came up; and I gave him but a cold welcome.”
“What sought he here?” demanded Shedlock.