‘Sure you honour should know best,’ said Dorcas.
‘I know? The devil! You drive me beyond patience.’
‘Noa, noa! donna your honour go beyond patience—donna ye now,’ implored the wench. ‘And for his neame, they say he has mair nor ane in Westmoreland and on the Scottish side. But he is but seldom wi’ us, excepting in the cocking season; and then we just call him Squoire loike; and so do my measter and dame.’
‘And is he here at present?’ said I.
‘Not he, not he; he is a buck-hoonting, as they tell me, somewhere up the Patterdale way; but he comes and gangs like a flap of a whirlwind, or sic loike.’
I broke off the conversation, after forcing on Dorcas a little silver to buy ribbons, with which she was so much delighted that she exclaimed, ‘God! Cristal Nixon may say his worst on thee; but thou art a civil gentleman for all him; and a quoit man wi’ woman folk loike.’
There is no sense in being too quiet with women folk, so I added a kiss with my crown piece; and I cannot help thinking that I have secured a partisan in Dorcas. At least, she blushed, and pocketed her little compliment with one hand, while, with the other, she adjusted her cherry-coloured ribbons, a little disordered by the struggle it cost me to attain the honour of a salute.
As she unlocked the door to leave the apartment, she turned back, and looking on me with a strong expression of compassion, added the remarkable words, ‘La—be’st mad or no, thou’se a mettled lad, after all.’
There was something very ominous in the sound of these farewell words, which seemed to afford me a clue to the pretext under which I was detained in confinement, My demeanour was probably insane enough, while I was agitated at once by the frenzy incident to the fever, and the anxiety arising from my extraordinary situation. But is it possible they can now establish any cause for confining me arising out of the state of my mind?
If this be really the pretext under which I am restrained from my liberty, nothing but the sedate correctness of my conduct can remove the prejudices which these circumstances may have excited in the minds of all who have approached me during my illness. I have heard—dreadful thought!—of men who, for various reasons, have been trepanned into the custody of the keepers of private madhouses, and whose brain, after years of misery, became at length unsettled, through irresistible sympathy with the wretched beings among whom they were classed. This shall not be my case, if, by strong internal resolution, it is in human nature to avoid the action of exterior and contagious sympathies.