“Is the man that talks loud—Mr. Harry—here often?” asked the voice at her bedside.
“But seldom, ma’am—too busy at fairs and races, I hear them say.”
“And Mr. Charles—is he often here?”
“Yes ’m; master be always here, exceptin’ this time only; he’s gone about a week.”
“About a week, Mr. Charles?”
“Oh, la, ma’am—yes, indeed, ma’am, dear, it’s just a week to-day since master went.”
Here was a silence.
“That will do. If I find you’ve been telling me lies I’ll take ye by the back of the neck and squeeze your face against the kitchen bars till it’s burnt through and through—do you see; and I give you this one chance, if you have been telling lies to say so, and I’ll forgive you.”
“Nothing but truth, indeed and indeed, ma’am.”
“Old Tarnley will beat you if she hears you have told me anything. So keep your own secret, and I’ll not tell of you.”