“I believe Mr. Leigh of Chapel's word without oaths. Whither are they gone?”
“Nay, sir—how can I tell? They are—they are, as I may say, fled, sir; escaped.”
“With your connivance; at least with your son's. Where are they gone?”
“As I live, I do not know.”
“Mr. Leigh—is this possible? Can you add untruth to that treason from the punishment of which I am trying to shield you?”
Poor Mr. Leigh burst into tears.
“Oh! my God! my God! is it come to this? Over and above having the fear and anxiety of keeping these black rascals in my house, and having to stop their villainous mouths every minute, for fear they should hang me and themselves, I am to be called a traitor and a liar in my old age, and that, too, by Richard Grenville! Would God I had never been born! Would God I had no soul to be saved, and I'd just go and drown care in drink, and let the queen and the Pope fight it out their own way!” And the poor old man sank into a chair, and covered his face with his hands, and then leaped up again.
“Bless my heart! Excuse me, Sir Richard—to sit down and leave you standing. 'S life, sir, sorrow is making a hawbuck of me. Sit down, my dear sir! my worshipful sir! or rather come with me into my room, and hear a poor wretched man's story, for I swear before God the men are fled; and my poor boy Eustace is not home either, and the groom tells me that his devil of a cousin has broken his jaw for him; and his mother is all but mad this hour past. Good lack! good lack!”
“He nearly murdered his angel of a cousin, sir!” said Sir Richard, severely.
“What, sir? They never told me.”