“P’r’aps it’s a little high-falutin’ talkin’ of Rosey ez a treasure.  But, considerin’, Mr. Renshaw, ez she’s the only prop’ty I’ve kept by me for seventeen years ez hez paid interest and increased in valoo, it ain’t sayin’ too much to call her so.  And ez Ferrers knows this, he oughter been content with gougin’ me in that horse-hair spec, without goin’ for Rosey.  P’r’aps yer surprised at hearing me speak o’ my own flesh and blood ez if I was talkin’ hoss-trade, but you and me is bus’ness men, Mr. Renshaw, and we discusses ez such.  We ain’t goin’ to slosh round and slop over in po’try and sentiment,” continued Nott, with a tremulous voice, and a hand that slightly shook on Renshaw’s shoulder.  “We ain’t goin’ to git up and sing, ’Thou ’st lamed to love another thou ’st broken every vow we’ve parted from each other and my bozom’s lonely now oh is it well to sever such hearts as ourn forever kin I forget thee never farewell farewell farewell.’  Ye never happen’d to hear Jim Baker sing that at the moosic hall on Dupont Street, Mr. Renshaw,” continued Mr. Nott, enthusiastically, when he had recovered from that complete absence of punctuation which alone suggested verse to his intellect.  “He sorter struck water down here,” indicating his heart, “every time.”

“But what has Miss Nott to do with M. de Ferrieres?” asked Renshaw, with a faint smile.

Mr. Nott regarded him with, dumb, round, astonished eyes.  “Hezn’t she told yer?”

“Certainly not.”

“And she didn’t let on anythin’ about him?” he continued, feebly.

“She said she’d like to know where”—­He stopped, with the reflection that he was betraying her confidences.

A dim foreboding of some new form of deceit, to which even the man before him was a consenting party, almost paralyzed Nott’s faculties.  “Then she didn’t tell yer that she and Ferrers was sparkin’ and keepin’ kimpany together; that she and him was engaged, and was kalkilatin’ to run away to furrin parts; that she cottoned to him more than to the ship or her father?”

“She certainly did not, and I shouldn’t believe it,” said Renshaw, quickly.

Nott smiled.  He was amused; he astutely recognized the usual trustfulness of love and youth.  There was clearly no deceit here!  Renshaw’s attentive eyes saw the smile, and his brow darkened.

“I like to hear yer say that, Mr. Renshaw,” said Nott, “and it’s no more than Rosey deserves, ez it’s suthing onnat’ral and spell-like that’s come over her through Ferrers.  It ain’t my Rosey.  But it’s Gospel truth, whether she’s bewitched or not; whether it’s them damn fool stories she reads—­and it’s like ez not he’s just the kind o’ snipe to write ’em hisself, and sorter advertise hisself, don’t yer see—­she’s allus stuck up for Lim.  They’ve had clandesent interviews, and when I taxed him with it he ez much ez allowed it was so, and reckoned he must leave, so ez he could run her off, you know—­kinder stampede her with ‘honor.’  Them’s his very words.”