The squire seemed to breathe more freely as he said, in a low soliloquy, “I'm devilish glad of it; for, after all, it would go against my heart to hang the fellow.”
“Well,” he said aloud, “so he's gone to France?”
“So de people does be sayin, shir.”
“Well, tell me—do you know a gentleman called Sir Robert Whitecraft?”
“Is dat him, shir, dat keeps de misses privately?”
“How do you know that he keeps misses privately?”
“Fwhy, shir, dey say his last one was a Miss Herbert, and dat she had a young one by him, and dat she was an Englishwoman. It isn't ginerally known, I believe, shir, but dey do be sayin' dat she was brought to bed in de cottage of some bad woman named Mary Mahon, dat does be on de lookout to get sweethearts for him.”
“There's five thirteens for you, and I wish to God, my good fellow, that you would allow yourself to be put in better feathers.”
“Oh, I expect my pinance will be out before a mont', shir; but, until den, I couldn't take any money.”
“Malcomson,” said he to the gardener, “I think that fellow's a half fool. I offered him a crown, and also said. I would get him a suit of clothes, and he would not take either; but talked about some silly penance he was undergoing.”