"And the jury as well, your reverence. About the child I know nothing at all."
"Describe that child to the best of your power: for you are not altogether a fool."
I told him what the poor babe was like, so far as I could remember it. But something holy and harmless kept me from saying one word about Bardie. And to the last day of my life I shall rejoice that I so behaved. He saw that I was speaking truth; but he showed no signs of joy or sorrow, until I ventured to put in—
"May I ask why your reverence wishes to know, and what you think of this matter, and how——"
"Certainly you may ask, Llewellyn; it is a woman's and a Welshman's privilege; but certainly you shall have no reply. What inquiry has been made along your coast about this affair?"
I longed to answer him in my humour, even as he had answered me. With any one else I could have done it, but I durst not so with him. Therefore I told him all the truth, to the utmost of my knowledge,—making no secret of Hezekiah, and his low curiosity; also the man of the press with the hat; and then I could not quite leave out the visit of Anthony Stew and Sir Philip.
This more than anything else aroused Parson Chowne's attention. For the papers he cared not a damn, he said; for two of them lived by abusing him; but as he swore not (except that once), it appeared to me that he did care. However, he pressed me most close and hard about Anthony Stew and Sir Philip.
When he had got from me all that I knew—except that he never once hit upon Bardie (the heart and the jewel of everything), he asked me without any warning—
"Do you know who that Sir Philip is?"
"No, your reverence; I have not even heard so much as his surname, although, no doubt, I shall find out."