"He's just a mortal man, I take it, very mortal, and when he's angered spares none, for all his fine forgetting and forgiving talk."
"There it is," said Ruth, "'tis scarce to be expected that he who has been so wronged, should be so forgiving as the Bible would have us. Nowadays, if a man sin against his brother, and kings are our brothers, eh, father? in a fashion of speaking they are our elder brothers, eh, father, dear?"
"Beshrew thee, child," impatiently frowned the maltster, "what has come to you?"
"I say 'tis a stretch if that man shall be forgiven twice, that is what I am thinking of; and those who plotted the killing of Charles the First, and were pardoned, would scarce be let go a second time, if—if—" she faltered, and coloured deeply.
"If what, mistress?" sternly challenged Rumbold.
"If they should harbour ill thoughts against Charles the Second."
It was the maltster's turn to look aside, as she lifted her appealing eyes to his face. "Come, come," he said, "a truce to this silly chatter. Good-night; and hark you, give me the key of the communicating door between your chamber and the Warder's Room. Have it you about you?"
The key of the warder's room.
"Yes, father; here," and she disengaged one of the keys from the bunch hanging at her girdle, and handed it to him, wonderingly.
"Very good," he said, taking it from her and pocketing it, "'tis your own fault, for your carelessness, Ruth," he went on; "this morning was the second time I found that door ajar. If I find it so ever again, I'll have it walled up. For the present I'll hold the key in my keeping."