"How did you find that out?" asked Brother Warboise sharply.
"Easily enough, as the child told the story.… At any rate, you went. At the door of the house you met Mrs. Weekes. She had put on her bonnet, and was coming that very afternoon to beseech your return. You have called daily ever since to talk about your debt, though the Statute of Limitations has closed it for years. … That, Master, is the story."
"You have told it fairly enough," said Warboise. "Now, since the Master knows it, I'd be glad to be told if that man is my friend or my enemy. Upon my word I don't rightly know, and if he knows he'll never find speech to tell me. Sometimes I think he's both."
"I am not sure that one differs very much from the other, in the long run," said Copas.
But the Master, who had been musing, turned to Warboise with a quick smile.
"Surely," he said, "there is one easy way of choosing. Take the poor fellow some little gift. If you will accept it for him, I shall be happy to contribute now and then some grapes or a bottle of wine or other small comforts."
He paused, and added with another smile, still more penetrating—
"You need not give up talking of the debt, you know!"
By this time they had reached the gateway of his lodging, and he gave them a fatherly good night just as a child's laugh reached them through the dusk at the end of the roadway. It was Corona, returning from rehearsal; and the Chaplain—the redoubtable William the Conqueror—was her escort. The two had made friends on their homeward way, and were talking gaily.
"Why, here is Uncle Copas!" called Corona, and ran to him.