“Bah!” the man in the cloak answered. “Every one knows that!”
“Hark to that now!” the old man replied, apostrophising the mare, that by way of answer whinnied softly and laid her head upon his shoulder. “Every one knows that! Every one knows——” He broke off with a half inaudible chuckle.
“Well, ’tis true, is it not, old dotard?” said the other sharply.
“How should I know?” answered the old man querulously. “Reuben the dotard! Reuben the fool!” and again he laughed mirthlessly.
“Mark you,” said the steward quickly, “I love not Dutch William. I am for the Stuarts, I! But this I say, that James is no fighter, and if he should give battle to William—pho!” And he snapped his fingers expressively.
“Aye, if he should!” the other replied significantly. “But—” and he sank his voice slightly—“what if he were to slip away and leave this Dutch hog in Ireland! What if he were to land here?”
“Here?” the steward cried in a startled tone.
“Here!” the old man went on triumphantly, “and the Earl with him! Why, at the master’s call we’d have the whole countryside in arms!”
“Aye, but what has the Frenchman to do with it?” the other cried in a tone of bewilderment.
“Nay, how should I know!” he replied, grinning. “Reuben the dotard! Only, did ever a Stuart have money!” he added softly, with a glance of contempt at the man before him.