“May be I bean't, for trouble turns a man's brain;--but you be, bean't'ee? You can't ha' vorgot how often I ha' pushed Bob off my knee to put you upon it. Why did I do so?--'cause thee wert my zon, and he were'Zquire Ztapleton's.--Haven't I hugged thee up to my breast, until thee'st a' squalled wi' the squeeze, when nobody was by?--I'd a grudge against the'zquire;--why, thee know'st well enough;--zo I made Meg, who nursed'ee both, change buoy for buoy. I thought to ha' made a vine vellow o' my zon at the'zquire's expence, little thinking I should ever want un to zave my life. I thought, when you was a man, to ha' comed up to'ee and zaid, 'Zquire, I be your vather,--zo and zo were the case,--make me comvortable, or I'll be a tell-tale.' That were my project; to zay nothing of having a bit of revenge upon the'zquire!--Lord, Lord! how I ha' chuckled to myzelf thinking on't Can any man zay I ever used Bob like my own zon? Answer me that. D--n un! I always hated un, vor his vather's zake: though the lad's a good lad, and, if he were mine, I should love un;--and I do, zometimes, I dunno' why:--but I ha; drashed un,--and while I were drashing un, I've a'most thought, I were drashing the vather o' un. But I ha' done un a good turn when he didn't know it. I ha' kissed un when he were asleep,--a'most upon the zly, like, even to myzelf. And when he broke his leg, I tended upon un, as you do know; and he's a' loved me zo, ever zince, that I ha' scores and scores o' times been zorry for it; for I do hate un because he's the zon of his vather:--but what be the matter wi' 'ee? What's amiss? Why d'ye stare and glower zo?” “Saul Braintree,” said Martin, “whether your words are true or not--and what you mention, I have observed--you have made me the most wretched being on earth; for whatever comes to pass, I must still suspect--Margaret, my heart tells me, may be--Oh! that horrid _may_, which is worse than certainty--may be--nay, I cannot pronounce it! Oh! Saul! if I could but believe you--if I could but make up my mind, even to the worst, it would be a comfort.” “Martin Braintree,--for that be your name,” said Saul, “didn't I warn'ee about Peggy? Didn't I--when I saw you were getting vond of her--didn't I try to offend'ee, zo az to keep'ee from coming to our cottage? Didn't I insult'ee?--but you wouldn't take it.” “You did, Saul, grossly insult me; but my love,--perhaps, my accursed love,--made me overlook it What a gulph of horror is opened before me! Peggy my sister! and you--you my father!--It cannot--it is not so, Saul. Unsay what you have said, and I will save you.” “I won't unsay it; it's out now, and I can't help it. If thou still doubt'st, Martin, go down and ask my wife--ask Meg; if thou still doubt'st, lad,--ask thy own heart--young as thee bee'st--if a vather could let a zon be hung for a crime of which thic zon bean't guilty!” “And is Robert innocent, then?” “Ay, lad, as thou art” “But you--surely, you--”