ancing
after my whistle, to find that she gave me the bag to hold, and was
smuggling in a corner with a rich old Puritan!"

"Credit me, Lance, it is not as thou thinkest," said Whitaker.
"Bridgenorth cares not for these amorous toys, and thou thinkest of
nothing else. But it is fitting our Knight should know that he has met
with Deborah in secret, and given her gold; for never Puritan gave gold
yet, but it was earnest for some devil's work done, or to be done."

"Nay, but," said Lance, "I would not be such a dog-bolt as to go and
betray the girl to our master. She hath a right to follow her fancy, as
the dame said who kissed her cow--only I do not much approve her choice,
that is all. He cannot be six years short of fifty; and a verjuice
countenance, under the penthouse of a slouched beaver, and bag of
meagre dried bones, swaddled up in a black cloak, is no such temptation,
methinks."

"I tell you once more," said Whitaker, "you are mistaken; and that there
neither is, nor can be, any matter of love between them, but only some
intrigue, concerning, perhaps, this same noble Countess of Derby. I tell
thee, it behoves my master to know it, and I will presently tell it to
him."

So saying, and in spite of all the remonstrances which Lance continued
to make on behalf of Mistress Deborah, the steward rode up to the
main body of their little party, and mentioned to the Knight, and the
Countess of Derby, what he had just heard from the keeper, adding at
the same time his own suspicions, that Master Bridgenorth of Moultrassie
Hall was desirous to keep up some system of espial in the Castle of
Martindale, either in order to secure his menaced vengeance on the
Countess of Derby, as authoress of his brother-in-law's death, or for
some unknown, but probably sinister purpose.

The Knight of the Peak was filled with high resentment at Whitaker's
communication. According to his prejudices, those of the opposite
faction were supposed to make up by wit and intrigue what they wanted
in open force; and he now hastily conceived that his neighbour,
whose prudence he always respected, and sometimes even dreaded, was
maintaining for his private purposes, a clandestine correspondence with
a member of his family. If this was for the betrayal of his noble guest,
it argued at once treachery and presumption; or, viewing the whole as
Lance had done, a criminal intrigue with a woman so near the person
of Lady Peveril, was in itself, he deemed,