“Elias, you must remain here for a few days.”
“Here, Sir Francis? In this old house, your worship?”
“Yes, here in this old house, Elias. You are strong, fearless, and well armed. Arrest any one who comes here.”
“Yes,” said Elias, looking about him, not over well pleased with his commission, as it did not promise much comfort or sprightly company—two things that Elias was rather partial to.
“I expect a thin, sallow man,” continued sir Francis, “to come here, of a pale and anxious cast of countenance. Arrest him by all means.”
“Yes, your worship.”
“And should a young girl come with him, or by herself, mind, Elias, she is a lady, and take care you treat her respectfully.”
“A lady!” ejaculated Elias, with astonishment. “Your worship, is she a real lady, or like Moll Flaherty?”
“Pshaw!” cried Sir Francis. “Treat her, I say, with respect, and bring her to me.”
“Oh! Bring her to your worship—oh!”