"Ha! is it you? Dost dare to speak to an honest girl?"
"Come, come, don't be fractious, my pretty one," said Diggory, in the
amiable tones that had once gained her heart.
But now her retort was in a still sharper, more angry key. "Your'n,
indeed! I'd rather stand up to be a mark for all the musketeers in
the Parliament army, as poor Master Edmund is like to be, all along
of you. O Diggory Stokes," she added ruefully, "I'd not have
believed it of you, if my own father had sworn it."
"Hush, hush, Deb!" said Diggory, rather sheepishly, "they've done
hanging the folk."
"Don't be for putting me off with such trash," she returned, more
passionately; "you've murdered him as much as if you had cut his
throat, and pretty nigh Master Walter into the bargain; and you've
broke my lady's heart, you, as was born on her land and fed with her
bread. And now you think to make up to me, do you?"
"Wasn't it all along of you I did it? For your sake?"
"Well, and what would you be pleased to say next?" cried Deb, her
voice rising in shrillness with her indignation.
"Patience, Deb," said Diggory, showing a heavy leathern bag. "No
more toiling in this ruinous old hall, with scanty scraps, hard
words, and no wages; but a tidy little homestead, pig, cow, and
horse, your own. See here, Deb," and he held up a piece of money.
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