“The Lord’s will be done!” responded Mr Ewring. “If so be, she at least will have little sorrow.”
Chapter Thirty Six.
Into the Lion’s Mouth.
“Give you good den, Master Hiltoft! May a man have speech of your prisoner, Mistress Bongeor?”
“You’re a bold man, Master Ewring.”
“Wherefore?”
“Wherefore! Sotting your head in the lion’s mouth! I should have thought you’d keep as far from Moot Hall as you could compass. Yourself not unsuspected, and had one burned already from your house—I marvel at you that you hide not yourself behind your corn-measures and flour-sacks, and have a care not to show your face in the street. And here up you march as bold as Hector, and desire to have speech of a prisoner! Well—it’s your business, not mine.”
“Friend, mine hearth is desolate, and I have only God to my friend. Do you marvel that I haste to do His work whilst it is day, or that I desire to be approved of Him?”