“Ay, that’s it, sir; and of course it’s all his doing, for she was so good and sweet; and it’s touched me quite like to the heart, sir, for master thought so much o’ she.”
“Good heavens!—then my suspicions were right!”
“You suspected too, sir? Well, I don’t wonder.”
“No, no; it is impossible, Monnick, impossible. Man, it must be a mistake.”
“Well, sir,” said the old fellow sturdily, “maybe it be. All of us makes mistakes sometimes, and suspects wrongfully. Even you, sir. But I’m pretty sure as I’m right; and for her sake, I’m going to go and tell master, and have it stopped.”
“No, no, man; are you mad?” cried the doctor, catching him by the arm.
“No more nor most folks be, sir; but I’m not going to see a woman go wrong, and a good true young man’s heart broke, to save a smooth-tongued gent from getting into trouble. It’ll do him good too.”
“Then you mean Mr Prayle?”
“Course I do, sir. There aren’t no one else here, I hope, as would behave that how.”
“Where are you going?” said the doctor, holding the old man tightly by the arm.