“Dear heart! why, that’s a hundred mile off or more, isn’t it? And how many days did it take you?—and how did you come—o’ horseback?—and be the roads very miry?—and how many of you be there?—and what kin are you to my Lady Lettice, now? and how long look you to tarry with her?”
“My mistress,” said David, doffing his hat, “an’t like you, I am a lawyer; and to-morrow morning, at nine o’clock, if you desire it, will I be at your service in the witness-box, for two shillings the week and my diet. For to-night, I wish you good even.”
“Lack-a-daisy!” was all that Mrs Abbott could utter, as David rescued the owner of the silvery voice, and bore her off, laughing, to the White Bear.
“Madam, and my mistresses,” he said, as he threw open the door, “I have the honour to announce the most excellent Mistress Milisent Lewthwaite.”
Tears and laughter were mixed for more than one present, as Milisent flew into her mother’s arms, and then gave a fervent hug to her sister Edith.
“I would come with Robin!” she cried. “It feels like a whole age since I saw one of you!”
“My dear heart, such a journey!” said her mother. “And where is the dear Robin, then?”
“Oh, he shall be here anon. He tarried but to see to the horses, and such like; and I set off with Davie—I felt as though I could not bear another minute.”
“Madam, I give you to wit,” said David, with fun in his eyes, “this mother of mine, that had not seen me for an whole year, spake but three words to me—‘How fare you, my boy?’ ‘Help me to ’light,’ and ‘Now let us be off to Westminster.’”
“Well, I had seen thee in a year,” answered Milisent, echoing his laugh, “and them not for three years, less a month.”