“Dang her for a French—. This be the way she spends our English money. She be a bigger robber than Greg’ry Garth—that she be—and ye can tell her I sayed so, the next time you ha’ the chance o’ palaverin’ to her. Go on! Emp’y your pockets o’ everything.”
“I’ve only this penknife; these tablets, and pencil—that’s all, I assure you.”
“What’s that glitterin’ thing,” asked the footpad, pointing to something the courtier appeared anxious to conceal, “as hangs about yer neck? Let’s have a squint at it?”
“That, sir,—that is a—a—a locket.”
“A locket; what be that?”
“Well, it’s—it’s—”
“It be wonderful like a bit o’ a watch. What be inside o’ it?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothin’. Then, what do you carry it for?”
“Oh, there is something inside; nothing of value, however; it’s only a lock of hair.”