"Well, Sir Morgan Walladmor! so, then, Edward Nicholas is gone to his trial?"
"He is; God send him a good deliverance!"
"So, so?" said she laughing, "times are changed at Walladmor. A good deliverance, eh? What, good deliverance to a smuggler?"
"Yes, Mrs. Godber,--even to a smuggler who happens to need it; but Captain Nicholas is not a smuggler."
"No, but he is worse: he has been a captain of smugglers, and he is a traitor."
"Whether he is a traitor, we do not yet know, Mrs. Godber. As a leader of smugglers he has at least the excuse of his unfortunate situation and his youth."
"Those were no excuses, Sir Morgan, twenty-four years ago."
"Woe is me, Mrs. Godber, that they were not!"
"So, so, so?" said she, chuckling with stifled laughter: "is it come to that? so then a worm may turn again, a poor worm may turn again--when it is trod upon. And the worm may be a snake. God sends snakes for those that need them." Then, pointing to the armorial bearings of the house of Walladmor emblazoned on the antique chairs, she said--"The snake, Sir Morgan, my snake. Sir Morgan Walladmor, my pretty snake--she stung your Falcon; your Falcon, and--your Doves!"
"She did indeed!" and Sir Morgan groaned with the remembrance.