"But Nicholas, mother--it's Nicholas that bids us tend him; and our souls are pledged for the stranger's."
"Nicholas! eh? Oh! yes, bonny Nicholas! And his soul is in pledge too. The old one has had him once by the head: and for that time he let him go: but he has him for all that: the noose is fast; and there's no sheers will ever cut that noose."
Without paying any further regard to her words, the young man filled a kettle with water and placed it on the fire: then, shaking the old woman's arm--as if to rouse her (like a child) into some attention to his words--he said to her earnestly:
"Mother Gillie, now boil the sea-man's drink of thyme, ground-ivy, pepper, ginger, honey, brandy, and all that belongs to it--you know how: make it, as you make it for ship-wrecked folk; and give it every hour to the poor soul there: and remember this--mother Gillie's life answers for his."
Like a child that has been told to do something under pain of punishment, the old woman answered--"Aye, aye; thyme, ground-ivy, pepper, ginger"--and went about her work. The young man then came up to the bed; and, laying his hands on Bertram, said--
"Ah, poor soul! he'll never be warm again: the sea has broke over him too roughly: but no matter: mother Gillie must brew the drink, if the man were a corpse; for Nicholas has said it.--Well, mother, God bless you! and another time when a Christian and one of us knocks at the door on a winter's night, sing out--Come in! and, if he should chance to be cold and thirsty, give him a glass of brandy; and think now and then that a living man is made of flesh as well as bones."
"Whither away then, Tom? To Grace, I'll warrant--the wench that has snared thee, and carries thee away from all thy kinsfolk."
"No: I must be gone to the castle; for Sir Morgan hunts in the morning."
"Ah! that Sir Morgan! that Sir Morgan! He wheedles thee, Tom; and to serve him thou leavest thy old mother. He and the young lady, and that lass Grace build houses for thee; but a mother's curse will pull them down."
"Mother, the baronet is my good friend: his father gave mine the oat-field by the shore: his grandfather saved mine from death in Canada: and the Walladmors have still been good masters; and we have still been faithful servants: and, let the white hats say what they will,--them that the quality calls radicals,--my notion is that people should stick to their old masters, and be true to them; and that's best for both sides."