“Well, nay, my Lord, he haven’t,” said Perkins, his heart fluttering and his grammar questionable.
“And wherefore no?” asked the Bishop sternly.
“Well, my Lord, truth is, I haven’t chanced on him since.”
“He hath not visited his sister, then?”
“Well,” answered Perkins, who seemed to find that word a comfort, “ay, he have; but him and me, we hasn’t been at same time, not yet.”
“Call you that diligence in the keeping of your prisoner?”
“Please your Lordship, she’s there, all safe.”
“I bade you arrest him,” insisted the Bishop.
Perkins chewed a sprig of dried lavender, and kept silence.
“I am sore displeased with you, Perkins!”