“Nobody ... only me!” quavered a voice in hoarse, wheedling tones. “So put up your wepping, sir!”
“What are you after?”
“Nothin’, sir ... only a-layin’ by till all ’ands is turned up. So don’t go shooting of a innocent wictim, sir.”
“What d’ye mean by eavesdropping?”
“No sech thing, y’r honour ... no, never in my life, sir. So away wi’ your wepping.”
“What’s your name, rogue?”
“Jonas, y’r honour, Jonas Skag, as honest a innocent as ever trod plank. So if y’r honour will put up y’r wepping and leggo my ’air kindly, I’ll be obleeged to your honour ’umbly.”
Sir John loosed the wheedling Jonas with a final shake, uncocked and re-pocketed his pistol, and looked round to find his companion had risen.
“The rogue disturbed us,” he sighed, “which is pity, for I was but warming to my theme. When I am upon the soul, and especially my own, I grow well-nigh lyrical. Let us sit down again and continue.”
“Nay, I’m a-cold!” she answered, drawing her cloak. “Hark! I think theym getting ready to sail.”