"Take care what you say to him," observed Mistress Nutter, in a low tone, and raising her finger to her lips.
Heaving a deep sigh, the magistrate then repaired to the library, a small room panelled with black oak, and furnished with a few cases of ancient tomes. The attorney and the divine were seated at a table, with a big square-built bottle and long-stemmed glasses before them, and Master Potts, with a wry grimace, excused himself from rising on his respected and singular good client's approach.
"Do not disturb yourself," said Nowell, gruffly; "we shall not leave Rough Lee to-day."
"I am glad to hear it," replied Potts, moving the cushions on his chair and eyeing the square-built bottle affectionately.
"Nor to-morrow, it may be—nor the day after—nor at all, possibly," said Nowell.
"Indeed!" exclaimed Potts, starting, and wincing with pain. "What is the meaning of all this, worthy sir?"
"'May I become the subject of the Fiend if I fail in my promise,'" rejoined Nowell, with a groan.
"What promise, worshipful sir?" cried Potts, staring with surprise.
The magistrate got out the words, "My promise to—" and then he stopped suddenly.
"To Mistress Nutter?" suggested Potts.