“Now where be thy bowels, young man, to talk so unfeelin’? An’ where be thy experience, not to know the ways o’ thy blessed dead in summer time?”
“When do you bury him?”
“To-morrow forenoon. The spot is two mile from here.” He blinked at me, and hesitated for a minute. “Is it your purpose, sirs, to attend?”
“Be sure of that,” I said grimly. “So have beds ready to-night for all our company.”
“All thy—! Dear sir, consider: where are beds to be found? Sure, thy mariners can pass the night aboard their own ship?”
“So then,” thought I, “you have been on the lookout;” but Delia replied for me—
“I am Delia Killigrew, and mistress of this house. You will prepare the beds as you are told.” Whereupon what does that decrepit old sinner but drop upon his knees?
“Mistress Delia! O goodly feast for this one poor eye! Oh, that Master Tingcomb had seen this day!”
I declare the tears were running down his nose; but Delia march’d out, cutting short his hypocrisy.
In the passage she whisper’d—