Mr. Pepys sat and considered.
“The Chancery folk are such a dastardly meddlesome lot,” he said.
“I am not afraid of the lawyers, Sam; we can take our chances over the sea, if needs be. But there is this man—this father—to be considered. And, by my hope in Heaven, I will kill him as he killed Lionel Purcell if he meddles further with the girl’s life!”
Mr. Pepys looked a little shocked despite his sympathy. He had been a good son himself, and the word “father” had its true meaning for him.
“Softly, John, softly. There is always the other side of the case; we cannot always see into another man’s heart.”
John Gore stared at the floor grimly.
“What I have said, Sam, I have said; even one’s father is not privileged to seduce and murder as he pleases. I shall put my sword to his breast and say: ‘Sir, no further.’ He has his life in his hand.”
Mr. Pepys looked at him kindly.
“Have you not thought, John, that it may rest with the girl?”
“With her—how?”