“A minister! bless you, who would fancy that? Nay, truly, he is a wolf in his own proper hide; and that is none so ill as the sheep’s clothing of yon poor dazed curate, that keeps muddling his brains from Sabbath to Saturday with Roger Whittaker’s sour ale. And see you, Mistress Edith, here is a cup of chocolate for you, the very same that the great ladies of the court break their fast withal. I got it from Tom Blackstone, a lad of this country, that’s gotten to be a skipper from Newcastle, when he came to see his old mother that lives nigh by the Scots gate; and I’d take a taste mysel’ for company, though, an it were not just newfangled. Well, Dame Dutton, look at the beer how it sparkles in the cup, as bright as the wine that my good man has been drawing for the gentle company in the great parlor. Thou never saw better ale I warrant thee.” “Nor tasted,” said Dame Dutton, heartily, “and I would, my poor Raaf, had but this to warm his old blood when he comes in from the hills o’ nights; for it’s a hard life, Mistress Philpot, and a dull night will this be, with thy chair empty. Mistress Edith, and thy sweet self gone among perils. Well-a-day! but Master Field is a bold man.” “Ay, truly,” said the landlady, looking inquisitively at Edith, “it must be urgent business that carries him to London e’enow; but there will be company on the road, Mistress Edith, for I chanced to hear young Sir Philip say as much to the other noble gentleman, as that he was on his way: and when he heard of that fearful plague, he would bring home his mother, he said. Bring home his mother, I trow! as if the Lady Dacre ever did one deed in this blessed world for any body’s will but her own.” ’Twould be a strange will, Mistress,” said Dame Dutton, “if she chose to stay among the sick folk in the stricken city; for Master Field would make thy blood cold to tell thee of it; but the Lady Dacre likes not Thornleigh, and wherefore should she?” “Ay, wherefore, indeed?” echoed Mistress Philpot, looking at Edith. These looks and hints made Edith uneasy; she resolved to ask her father what their meaning was, but she wisely forebore questioning the kindly dames beside her, both of whom, good-humored, honest, affectionate matrons, as they were, had no objections to a little innocent gossip. “But Thornleigh has never been inhabited since I came to Cumberland, has it, Dame Dutton?” said Edith, “and yet this gentleman seemed to come from it to-day!”