"To tell you candidly the truth, then," replied Patience: "I can not believe that you are what you profess to be. I mean to say that, although a forester now, you were never brought up as such. My father has an opinion allied to mine."
"I thank you both for your good opinion of me, but I fear that I can not raise myself above the condition of a forester; nay, from your father's coming down here, and the new regulations, I have every chance of sinking down to the lower grade of a deer-stealer and poacher; indeed, had it not been that I had my gun with me, I should have been seized as such this very day as I came over."
"But you were not shooting the deer, were you, sir?" inquired Patience.
"No, I was not; nor have I killed any since last I saw you."
"I am glad that I can say that to my father," replied Patience; "it will much please him. He said to me that he thought you capable of much higher employment than any that could be offered here, and only wished to know what you would accept. He has interest—great interest—although just now at variance with the rulers of this country, on account of the—"
"Murder of the king, you would or you should have said, Mistress Patience. I have heard how much he was opposed to that foul deed, and I honor him for it."
"How kind, how truly kind you are to say so!" said Patience, the tears starting in her eyes; "what pleasure to hear my father's conduct praised by you!"
"Why, of course, Mistress Patience, all of my way of thinking must praise him. Your father is in London, I hear?"
"Yes, he is; and that reminds me that you must want some refreshment after your walk. I will call Phoebe." So saying, Patience left the room.
The fact was, Mistress Patience was reminded that she had been sitting with a young man some time, and alone with him—which was not quite proper in those times; and when Phoebe appeared with the cold viands, she retreated out of hearing, but remained in the room.