"Oh! very like what he was as a young man. They say there's nothing keeps you young like a good conscience!" and she laughed drily. "Not that he was ever much to look at--squat and tubby and freckled, and such saucy prying eyes!" Master Nathaniel could contain himself no longer, and in a voice hoarse with excitement he cried, "Was it ... do you mean the Lud doctor, Endymion Leer?" Mistress Ivy pursed up her mouth and nodded meaningfully. "Yes, that's what he calls himself now ... and many folks set such store by him as a doctor, that, to hear them talk, one would think a baby wasn't properly born unless he'd brought it into the world, nor a man properly dead unless he'd closed his eyes." "Yes, yes. But are you sure he is the same as Christopher Pugwalker? Could you swear to him in court?" cried Master Nathaniel eagerly. Mistress Ivy looked puzzled. "What good would it do to swear at him?" she asked doubtfully. "I must say I never held with foul language in a woman's mouth, nor did my poor Peppercorn--for all that he was a sailor." "No, no!" cried Master Nathaniel impatiently, and proceeded to explain to her the meaning of the expression. She dimpled a little at her own blunder, and then said guardedly, "And what would bring me into the law courts, I should like to know? The past is over and done with, and what is done can't be undone." Master Nathaniel fixed her with a searching gaze, and, forgetting his assumed character, spoke as himself. "Mistress Peppercorn," he said solemnly, "have you no pity for the dead, the dumb, helpless dead? You loved your father, I am sure. When a word from you might help to avenge him, are you going to leave that word unsaid? Who can say that the dead are not grateful for the loving thoughts of the living, and that they do not rest more quietly in their graves when they have been avenged? Have you no time or pity left for your dead father?" During this speech Mistress Ivy's face had begun working, and at the last words she burst into sobs. "Don't think that, sir," she gasped; "don't think that! I remember well how my poor father used to sit looking at her of an evening, not a word passing his lips, but his eyes saying as clearly as if it had been his tongue, 'No, Clem,' (for my stepmother's name was Clementine), 'I don't trust you no further than I see you, but, for all that, you can turn me round your little finger, because I'm a silly, besotted old fool, and we both know it.' Oh! I've always said that my poor father had both his eyes wide open, in spite of him being the slave of her pretty face. It was not that he didn't see, or couldn't see--what he lacked was the heart to speak out." "Poor fellow! And now, Mistress Ivy, I think you should tell me all you know and what it is that makes you think that, in spite of the medical evidence to the contrary, your father was murdered," and he planted his elbows on the counter and looked at her squarely in the face.