The woodman, as he asked the question, gazed scrutinisingly upon the countenance of his daughter.
“Oh, no, father!” replied Betsey without flinching from his gaze. “What could he want with me? He said he had a message for yourself; and that his captain wished to speak with you on some business.”
“Business wi’ his captain! Hech! Did he say nothin’ o’ what it be’ed about?”
“No.”
“Nor made no inquiries o’ any kind?”
“He only asked me, if I knew Mister Henry Holtspur, and where he lived.”
“What didst thee tell him?”
“I said that you knew him; and that he lived at the old house at Stone Dean.”
The beautiful Betsey did not think it necessary to inform her father, that the cuirassier had said a good deal more: since it was in the shape of gallant speeches, and related only to herself.
“Makin’ inquiries ’bout him!” muttered Dancey to himself. “I shudn’t wonder if theer be somethin’ afoot. Muster Holtspur must be told o’t, an’ at once. I’ll go over theer soon’s I’ve ate my breakfast. Wull’s been here too,” he continued, once more addressing himself to his daughter, though not interrogatively. “I see’d him last night, when I got to Muster Holtspur’s. He told me he’d been.”