In a few minutes Gillespie entered; and indeed it would be difficult to see a more ferocious-looking ruffian than this scoundrel who was groom to the baronet. Fame, or scandal, or truth, as the case may be, had settled the relations between Sir Thomas and him, not merely as those of master and servant, but as those of father and son. Be this as it may, however, the similarity of figure and feature was so extraordinary, that the inference could be considered by no means surprising.
“Tom,” said the baronet, “I suppose there is a Bible in the house?”
“I can't say, sir,” replied the ruffian. “I never saw any one in use. O, yes, Miss Gourlay has one.”
“Yes,” replied the other, with a gloomy reflection, “I forgot; she is, in addition to her other accomplishments, a Bible reader. Well, stay where you are; I shall get it myself.”
He accordingly rose and proceeded to Lucy's chamber, where, after having been admitted, he found the book he sought, and such was the absence of mind, occasioned by the apprehensions he felt, that he brought away the book, and forgot to lock the door.
“Now, sir,” said the baronet, sternly, when he returned, “do you respect this book? It is the Bible.”
“Why, yes, sir. I respect every book that has readin' in it—printed readin'.”
“But this is the Bible, on which the Christian religion is founded.”
“Well, sir, I don't doubt that,” replied the enlightened master of horse; “but I prefer the Seven Champions of Christendom, or the History of Valentine and Orson, or Fortunatus's Purse.”
“You don't relish the Bible, then?”