“Your honour, as wrongfully I fancied.”

“Wrongfully, indeed, and to my no small disparagement and discomfort,” said the knight, verily believing that he had not whistled; for deep and dubious were his cogitations.

“I protest,” went he on to say, “I protest it was the wind of the casement; and if I live another year I will put a better in the place of it.  Whistle indeed—­for what?  I care no more about her than about an unfledged cygnet,—­a child, {189a} a chicken, a mere kitten, a crab-blossom in the hedge.”

The dignity of his worship was wounded by Master Silas unaware, and his wrath again turned suddenly upon poor William.

“Hark-ye, knave! hark-ye again, ill-looking stripling, lanky from vicious courses!  I will reclaim thee from them; I will do what thy own father would, and cannot.  Thou shalt follow his business.”

“I cannot do better, may it please your worship!” said the lad.

“It shall lead thee unto wealth and respectability,” said the knight, somewhat appeased by his ready compliancy and low, gentle voice.  “Yea, but not here,—­no witches, no wantons (this word fell gravely and at full-length upon the ear), no spells hereabout.

“Gloucestershire is within a measured mile of thy dwelling.  There is one at Bristol, formerly a parish-boy, or little better, who now writeth himself gentleman in large, round letters, and hath been elected, I hear, to serve as burgess in parliament for his native city; just as though he had eaten a capon or turkey-poult in his youth, and had actually been at grammar school and college.  When he began, he had not credit for a goat-skin; and now, behold ye! this very coat upon my back did cost me eight shillings the dearer for him, he bought up wool so largely.”

William Shakspeare.

“May it please your worship! if my father so ordereth, I go cheerfully.”

Sir Thomas.

“Thou art grown discreet and dutiful.  I am fain to command thy release, taking thy promise on oath, and some reasonable security, that thou wilt abstain and withhold in future from that idle and silly slut, that sly and scoffing giggler, Hannah Hathaway, with whom, to the heartache of thy poor, worthy father, thou wantonly keepest company.”

Then did Sir Thomas ask Master Silas Gough for the Book of Life, bidding him deliver it into the right hand of Billy, with an eye upon him that he touch it with both lips,—­it being taught by the Jesuits, and caught too greedily out of their society and communion, that whoso toucheth it with one lip only, and thereafter sweareth falsely, cannot be called a perjurer, since perjury is breaking an oath.  But breaking half an oath, as he doth who toucheth the Bible or crucifix with one lip only, is no more perjury than breaking an eggshell is breaking an egg, the shell being a part, and the egg being an integral.

William did take the Holy Book with all due reverence the instant it was offered to his hand.  His stature seemed to rise therefrom as from a pulpit, and Sir Thomas was quite edified.