Dick was seated at the table, engaged in the agreeable occupation of eating. A mug of beer, the fragments of a loaf of bread, and some ribs of roast venison, were the viands before him.
It was his breakfast; though the sun shining down through the tops of the beeches betokened it nearer dinner-time; and Bet had breakfasted some hours earlier. But Dick had returned home late the night before—fatigued after a long journey—and in consequence had snored upon his shakedown of straw, until the bells of Bulstrode were tolling twelve.
From the conversation carried on between him and his daughter, it was evident that, up to that hour, not many words had passed between them since his coming home.
“Ha’ theer be’d any un here, gurl?”
“Yes. One of the soldiers from the Park has been here—twice.”
“One o’ the sogers!” muttered Dick in a tone that betrayed unpleasantness. “Dang it, that’s queery! Did he tell thee his errand?”
“Only that he wanted to see you.”
“Wanted to see me! Art sure o’ that, gurl?”
“He said so, father.”
“Thour’t sure he didn’t come to see thee?”