After some time, however, he rang for Gibson, who, on seeing him, started.
“Good God, sir!” said he, quite alarmed, “whit is the matter?”
“I did not ring for you, sir,” he replied, “to ask impertinent questions. Send Gillespie to me.”
Gibson withdrew, and in the mean time his master went to his dressing-room, where he washed himself free of the bloody evidences of his awful passions. This being done, he returned to the library, where, in a few minutes, Gillespie attended him.”
“Gillespie,” he exclaimed, “do you fear God?”
“I hope I do, Sir Thomas, as well as another, at any rate.”
“Well, then, begone, for you are useless to me—begone, sirrah, and get me some one that fears neither God nor devil.”
“Why, Sir Thomas,” replied the ruffian, who, having expected a job, felt anxious to retrieve himself, “as to that matter, I can't say that I ever was overburdened with much fear of either one or other of them. Indeed, I believe, thank goodness, I have as little religion as most people.”
“Are you sure, sirrah, that you have no conscience?”
“Why—hem—I have done things for your honor before, you know. As to religion, however, I'll stand upon having as little of it as e'er a man in the barony. I give up to no one in a want of that commodity.”