"Mary be good to us all!" said Tim sadly. "But I know a mighty lot I'd rather not know, me dear. But are ye sure, Miss?"
Lesbia sat up, dried her eyes, and detailed all that had happened. Tim listened in dismayed silence with his sad eyes on her pale face, and she heard him grind his teeth when it came to an account of Lady Charvington's accusation. When she ended he still kept silence.
"What do you think of it all, Tim?" asked his mistress, anxious to hear what he had to say.
"It's black lies that woman spakes," cried Tim vehemently. "Ye nivir knew av the masther's wrongdoin'."
"Did you, Tim?"
"I knew a trifle, an' guessed a mighty lot. Nivir ask me, miss, phwat I know till his lardship--an' sure he's a good man--spakes the wurrd. But I know wan thing, me dear heart, that the blackest clouds have the blissid sun behint thim."
"There is no sun behind these clouds," said Lesbia, sighing.
"An' there yer wrong, Miss," said Tim briskly. "Sure, whin them clouds do let the blissid sun sind out th' light av him, ye'll foind pace an' happiness an' joy galore. Lave things to his lardship. The crass began the throuble, an' the crass will end that same."
"Tim! Tim, what do you know about the cross?"
"Ah, nivir ask me phwat I know," croaked Tim again. "There's whales within whales, me dear, an' me mouth's bin saled fur many a year. But whin his lardship spakes I spake, and thin ye'll be as happy as thim who dwell in Tirnanoge."