“You go a queer way about it. I reckon you think with the old saw, (Proverb.) ‘The nearer the church the further from Heaven’!”
“That is true but in some sense. Verily, the nearer some churches, and some priests, so it is. May I see Mistress Bongeor?”
“Ay, you would fain not commit yourself, I see, more than may be. Come, you have a bit of prudence left. So much the better for you. Come in, and I’ll see if Wastborowe’s in a reasonable temper, and that hangs somewhat on the one that Audrey’s in.”
The porter shut the gate behind Mr Ewring, and went to seek Wastborowe. Just then Jane Hiltoft, coming to her door, saw him waiting, and invited him to take a seat.
“Fine morning, Master.”
“Ay, it is, Jane. Have you yet here poor Johnson’s little maid?”
“I haven’t, Master, and I feel fair lost without the dear babe. A rare good child she was—never see a better. The Black Ladies of Hedingham has got her, and I’m all to pieces afeard they’ll not tend her right way. How should nuns (saving their holy presences) know aught about babes and such like? Eh dear! they’d better have left her with me. I’d have taken to her altogether, if Simon’d have let me—and I think he would after a bit. And she’d have done well with me, too.”
“Ay, Jane, you’d have cared her well for the body, I cast no doubt.”
“Dear heart, but it’s sore pity, Master Ewring, such a good man as you cannot be a good Catholic like every body else! You’d save yourself ever so much trouble and sorrow. I cannot think why you don’t.”
“We should save ourselves a little sorrow, Jane; but we should have a deal more than we lost.”