Then Sir Thomas took Master Silas again into the bay window, and said softly,—
“Silas, he hath no inkling of thy meaning. The business is a ticklish one. I like not overmuch to meddle and make therein.”
Master Silas stood dissatisfied awhile, and then answered,—
“The girl’s mother, sir, was housemaid and sempstress in your own family, time back, and you thereby have a right over her unto the third and fourth generation.”
“I may have, Silas,” said his worship, “but it was no longer than four or five years agone that folks were fain to speak maliciously of me for only finding my horse in her hovel.”
Sir Silas looked red and shiny as a ripe strawberry on a Snitterfield tile, and answered somewhat peevishly,—
“The same folks, I misgive me, may find the rogue’s there any night in the week.”
Whereunto replied Sir Thomas, mortifiedly,
“I cannot think it, Silas! I cannot think it.”
And after some hesitation and disquiet,—