'I protest most solemnly,' said I, 'I do not understand five words in the whole of that last sentence!'
'And yet, my lady,' replied he, ''tis the pure well of English undefiled, and such as was yspoken in mine youth.'
'But what can you mean by child Gwyn?' said I. 'Surely his lordship was no suckling at this time.'
'Child,' said Eftsoones, 'signified a noble youth, some centuries ago; and it is coming into fashion again. For instance, there is Childe Harold.'
'Then,' said I, 'there is "second childishness;" and I fancy there will be "mere oblivion" too. But if possible, finish your tale in the corrupt tongue.'
'I will endeavour,' said he. 'Tempted by this implied promise of a reward, I took an opportunity of conveying you away from your mother, and of secreting you at the house of a peasant, whom I bribed to bring you up as his own daughter. I told Lord Gwyn that I had dispatched you, and he gave me three and fourpence halfpenny for my trouble.
'When the dear lady, your mother, missed you, she went through the most elegant extravagancies; till, having plucked the last hair from her head, she ran wild into the woods, and has never been heard of since.'
'Dear sainted sufferer!' exclaimed I.
'A few days ago,' continued Eftsoones, 'a messenger out of breath came to tell me, that the peasant to whom I had consigned you was dying, and wished to see me. I went. Such a scene! He confessed to me that he had sold you, body and bones, as he inelegantly expressed it, to one farmer Wilkinson, about thirteen years before; for that this farmer, having discovered your illustrious birth, speculated on a handsome consideration from Lord Gwyn, for keeping the secret. Now I am told there is a certain parchment——'
'Which I have!' cried I.