“Well! methinks that were no very ill deed,” said Clare.
“A deed whereof no gentleman of spirit should be guilty!”
“There be divers sorts of spirits, Jack.”
“There is but one manner of spirit,” returned Jack sharply, “and I ne’er saw a spark thereof in yon bale of woollen goods labelled Jack Feversham.”
“May be thou wilt, some day,” answered Clare.
“That will be when the Ribble runneth up instead of down. He is a coward,—mine head to yon apple thereon.”
“Be not so sure thereof.”
“But I am sure thereof—as sure as a culverin shot.”
Clare dropped the subject.
Rather late on the following evening, with his usual quiet, business-like air, John Feversham asked for a few words with Sir Thomas. Then—to the astonishment of that gentleman—the purport of his visit came out. He wanted Blanche.