“No—no—no,” said Uncle Zachie, “it was Scantlebray.”
“I say she has—she has been to—” he paused, then said—“to see her aunt.”
“Aunt Dunes! bless my heart, when?”
“To-night.”
“Impossible!”
“But I say she has. Come, Mr. Menaida. Go up to her room, knock at the door, and ascertain if she be back. Her aunt is alarmed—there are rough folks about.”
“Why, bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Menaida, “so there are. And—well, wonders’ll never cease. How came you here! I thought the guard were after you. Scantlebray said so.”
“Will you go at once and see if Judith Trevisa is home?”
Coppinger spoke with such vehemence, and looked so threateningly at the old man, that he staggered out of his chair, and, still holding his pipe, went to the stairs.
“Bless me!” said he, “whatever am I about? I’ve forgot a candle. Would you oblige me with lighting one? My hand shakes, and I might light my fingers by mistake.”