“A marriage-licence!” Miss Hewitt repeated again, in tones of consternation; “and what does the fool want with a licence as costs money, when you can put up the banns, as is far more respectable, and be married the right way.”
“I don’t know as there’s anything that ain’t respectable in a licence, and anyway it’s the only thing,” said Patty, “for him and me. If I can’t get it, I’ll have to let it alone, that’s all. A marriage as mightn’t be anything much for the moment, but enough to make the hair stand upright on your head, Aunt Patience, all the same!”
“What kind of marriage would that be?” said the old lady, sceptical yet interested; “that fine Roger of yours, maybe, as is probable to be made a lord for his battin’ and his bowlin’. Lord! Patty, how you can be such a fool, a niece of mine!”
“I ain’t such a fool,” said Patty, growing red, “though it might be better for me if I was. But anyhow I am your niece, as you say, and I can’t—be that kind of fool; maybe I’m a bigger fool, if it’s true as that old witch at the Manor says.”
“What old witch?” cried the other old witch in the parlour, pricking up her ears.
“Aunt Patience,” cried Patty, “you as knows: can they lock up in a madhouse a young man as isn’t mad, no more than you or me; but is just silly, as any one of us might be? Can they put him out of his property, or send for the Lord Chancellor and take everything from him to his very name? Oh, what’s the use of asking who he is? Who could he be? there ain’t but one like that in all this county, and you know who he is as well as I do. Mr. Gervase Piercey. Sir Giles’ son and heir! and they’ve got neither chick nor child but him!”
“Patty,” said the elder woman, laying a grip like that of a bird with claws upon her niece’s arm, “is it ’im as you want the thirty pounds for to buy the licence? Tell me straight out, and not a word more.”
“It is him,” said Patty, in full possession of her h’s, and with a gravity that became the importance of the occasion. Miss Hewitt did not say a word. She rose from her chair, and, proceeding to the window, pulled down the thick linen blind. She then placed a chair against the door. Then she took from the recess near the fireplace an old workbox, full to all appearance, when she opened it with a key which she took out of her purse, with thread and needles of various kinds. Underneath this, when she had taken the shelf completely out, appeared something wrapt in a handkerchief half-hemmed, with a threaded needle stuck in it—as if it had been a piece of work put aside—which proved to be an old pocketbook. She held this in her hand for a moment only, gave Patty a look, full of suspicion, scrutiny, yet subdued enthusiasm; then she opened it and took out carefully three crisp and crackling notes, selecting them one by one from different bundles. Then with great deliberation she put notes, pocketbook, the covering shelf, of the workbox, and the box itself back into the place where it had stood before.
“Mind, now you’ve seen it, I’ll put it all into another place,” Miss Hewitt said; “so you may tell whoever you like, they won’t find it there.”
“Why should I tell?” said Patty; “it’s more for my interest you should keep it safe.”