"And now," continueth Mistress _Lewthwaite_, "here do I hear that at _Grasmere_ Farm he gave out himself to be one Master _Tregarvon_, of _Devon_; and up in _Borrowdale_, he hath been playing the gallant to two or three maids by the name of Sir _Thomas Brooke_ of _Warwickshire_: and the saints know which is his right one. He's a bad one, Lady _Lettice_! And after all, here is your Mistress _Bess_, she saith she is as sure as that her name is _Wolvercot_, that no one of all these names is his own. She reckons him to be some young gentleman that she once wist, down in the shires,--marry, what said she was his name, now? I cannot just call to mind. She should ne'er have guessed at him, quoth she, but she saw him do somewhat this young man were wont to do, and were something singular therein--I mind not what it were. Dear heart, but this fray touching our _Blanche_ hath drove aught else out of mine head! But Mistress _Bess_ said _he_ were a bad one, and no mistake." "Is _Blanche_ gone off with him, Mistress _Lewthwaite_?" saith _Helen_. "That is right what she is, _Nell_, and ill luck go with her," quoth Mistress _Lewthwaite_: "for it will, that know I. God shall never bless no undutiful childre,--of that am I well assured." "Nay, friend, curse not your own child!" saith _Mother_, with a little shudder. "Eh, poor lass, I never meant to curse her," quoth she: "she'll get curse enough from him she's gone withal. She has made her bed, and she must lie on it. And a jolly hard one it shall be, by my troth!" Here come Cousin _Bess_ and Aunt _Joyce_ into the chamber, and a deal more talk was had of them all: but at the last Mistress _Lewthwaite_ rose up, and went away. But just ere she went, saith she to _Milisent_ and me, that were sat together of one side of the chamber-- "Eh, my maids, but you twain should thank God and your good father and mother! for if you had been bred up with less care, this companion, whatso his name be, should have essayed to beguile you as I am a _Cumberland_ woman. A pair of comely young lasses like you should have been a great catch for him, I reckon." "Ah, Mistress mine," saith Cousin _Bess_, "when lasses take as much care of their own selves as their elders of them, we shall catch larks by the sky falling, _I_ reckon." "You are right, Mistress _Bess_," saith she: and so away hied she. No sooner was Mistress _Lewthwaite_ gone, than _Mother_ saith,--"_Bess_, who didst thou account this man to be? Mistress _Lewthwaite_ saith thou didst guess it to be one thou hadst known down in the shires, but she had forgat the name." I saw Cousin _Bess_ look toward Aunt _Joyce_ with a question in her eyes: and if ever I read _English_ in eyes, what _Aunt's_ said was,--"Have a care!" Then Cousin _Bess_ saith, very quiet-- "It was a gentleman in _Oxford_ town, Cousin _Lettice_, that I was wont to hear of from our _Nell_ when she dwelt yonder." "Oh, so?" saith _Mother_: and thus the matter ended.