The Maid of SkerBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
General
The Maid of Sker
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Foundlings -- Fiction; Romance fiction; Wales -- Fiction
This astonished me so much--for his fish had never died over four
days--that nothing but my countenance could express my feelings.
"I crave your pardon, Justice Stew," said the tall grey gentleman with
the velvet coat, as he rose in a manner that overawed me, for he stood a
good foot over Anthony Stew, and a couple of inches over me; "may we not
enter upon the matter which has led us to this place?"
"Certainly, Sir Philip, certainly," Stew replied, with a style which
proved that Sir Philip must be of no small position; "all I meant, Sir
Philip, was just to let you see the sort of fellow we have to deal
with."
"My integrity is well known," I answered, turning from him to the
gentleman; "not only in this parish, but for miles and miles round. It
is not my habit to praise myself; and in truth I find no necessity. Even
a famous newspaper, so far away as Bristol, the celebrated 'Felix
Farley's Journal'----"
"Just so," said the elder gentleman; "it is that which has brought us
here; although, as I fear, on a hopeless errand."
With these words he leaned away, as if he had been long accustomed to be
disappointed. To me it was no small relief to find their business
peaceable, and that neither a hare which had rushed at me like a lion
through a gate by moonlight, nor a stupid covey of partridges (nineteen
in number, which gave me no peace while excluded from my dripping-pan),
nor even a pheasant cock whose crowing was of the most insulting
tone,--that none of these had been complaining to the bench emboldened
me, and renewed my sense of reason. But I felt that Justice Stew could
not be trusted for a moment to take this point in a proper light.
Therefore I kept my wits in the chains, taking soundings of them both.
"Now, Llewellyn, no nonsense, mind!" began Squire Stew, with his face
like a hatchet, and scollops over his eyebrows: "what we are come for is
very simple, and need not unsettle your conscience, as you have allowed
it to do, I fear. Keep your aspect of innocent wonder for the next time
you are brought before me. I only wish your fish were as bright and
slippery as you are."
"May I humbly ask what matter it pleases your worship to be thinking
of?"
"Oh, of course you cannot imagine, Davy. But let that pass, as you were
acquitted, by virtue of your innocent face, in the teeth of all the
evidence. If you had only dropped your eyes, instead of wondering so
much--but never mind, stare as you may, some day we shall be sure to
have you."
Now, I will put it to anybody whether this was not too bad, in my own
house, and with the Bench seated on my own best chairs! However, knowing
what a man he was, and how people do attribute to me things I never
dreamed of, and what little chance a poor man has if he takes to
contradiction, all I did was to look my feelings, which were truly
virtuous. Nor were they lost upon Sir Philip.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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