"Poor lad!" She spoke sadly and absently, and it nettled the Squire. "I know what you are thinking, Mistress," he said; "but the time has come when we are bound to stick to our own side." "The poor are suffering terribly, John. They are starved and driven to the last pinch. There never was anything like it before." "Women are a soft lot; it would not do to give up to their notions." "If you mean that women have soft hearts, it is a good thing for men that women are that way made." "I have not done with my wonders yet. Who do you think was with the Duke?" "I don't know, and I can't say that I care." "Yes, but you do. It was Lord Exham. He said this and that about you, but I did not take much notice of his fine words." Then he rose and pushed his chair aside, and as he left the room added,-- "That stranger lad I had the tussle with to-night says he knows your son Edgar--that they have lived and worked together for a year,--a very unlikely thing." "Stop a minute, Squire. Are you not ashamed of yourself to keep this news for a tag-end? Why it is the best thing I have heard to-night; and I'll be bound you let it go past you like a waft of wind. What did you ask the stranger about _my_ son?" "Nothing. Not a word." "It was like your stubborn heart. _My son_ indeed! If ever you had a son, it is Edgar. You were just like him when I married you--not as handsome--but very near; and you are as like as two garden peas in your pride, and self-will, and foolish anger. Don't talk to me of Dukes, and Lords, and Parliaments, and wrestling matches. I want to hear about _my_ son. If you have nothing to say about Edgar, I care little for your other news." "Why, Maude! Whatever is the matter with you? I have lived with you thirty years, and it seems that I have never known you yet." "But I know you, John Atheling. And I am ashamed of myself for having made nothing better out of you in thirty years. I thought I had you better shaped than you appear to be." "I shall need nothing but my shroud, when thou, or any other mortal, shapest me." "Fiddlesticks! Go away with your pride! I have shaped everything for you,--your house, and your eating; your clothes, and your religion; and if I had ever thought you would have fallen into Duke Richmoor's hands, I would have shaped your politics before this time of day." "Now, Maude, thou canst easily go further than thou canst come back, if thou dost not take care. Thou must remember that I am thy lord and husband." "To be sure, thou hast that name. But thou hast always found it best to do as thy lady and mistress told thee to do; and if ever thou didst take thy own way, sorry enough thou hast been for it. Talk of clay in the hands of the potter! Clay is free and independent to what a man is in the hands of his wife. Now, John, go to bed. I won't speak to thee again till I find out something about _my_ son Edgar." "Very well, Madame."