The prisoners loudly exclaimed against Reginald's suspicions; but Batter, by dint of bawling, and Quality, by the virtue of his apothegms, soon restored order, and Agnes followed Sir Waldron into the adjoining room. “Now, my dear,” said the baronet, taking a chair, and drawing Agnes between his knees, “what have you to say? Why not tell your name before the people in the parlour? Is either of those men related to you?”
“Oh, no! no, indeed! I never saw them before to-day.”
“And whose child are you?”
“Yours!” replied Agnes, looking archly up at Sir Waldron, and placing her little hand on his as she spoke.
“Pooh! pooh! child, don't be foolish,” replied Sir Waldron, who felt half inclined to be angry, but, at the same time, could not prevent his features from relaxing into a smile; “tell me the truth.”
“I have told the truth; indeed and indeed I have.”
“How do you mean, child?”
“Why, if you're my papa, you know, I must be your little daughter:—musn't I now?”
“Truly so, child,” replied Sir Waldron; “but as I am not your papa—”
“Oh! but you are, though,” interrupted Agnes; “my mamma told me so.”