But the room's clane as
watter an' scourin' 'll make et--reminds me," he continued, with a
glance round, "o' what the contented clerk said by hes office-stool:
'Chairs es good,' said he, 'and sofies es better; but 'tes a great
thing to harbour no dust.' Any orders, sir?"
"No, I fancy--stop! Is my writing-case here?"
Caleb's anxiety took alarm.
"You bain't a-goin' to do et in writin' sir, surely!"
Mr. Fogo stared.
"Don't 'ee, sir--don't 'ee!"
"Really, Caleb, your behaviour is most extraordinary. What is it
that I am not to do?"
"Why, put et in writin', sir: they don't like et. Go up an' ax her
like a man--'Will 'ee ha' me? Iss or no?' That was ould Dick Jago's
way, an' I reckon _he_ knowed, havin' married sax wifes, wan time an'
another. But as for pen and ink--"
"You mistake me," interrupted Mr. Fogo, with a painful flush.
He paused irresolutely, and then added, in a softer tone, "Would you
mind taking a seat in the window here, Caleb? I have something to
say to you."
Caleb obeyed. For a moment or two there was silence as Mr. Fogo
stood up before his servant. The light of the candle on the chest
beside him but half revealed his face. When at last he spoke it was
in a heavy, mechanical tone.
"You guessed once," he said, "and rightly, that a woman was the cause
of my seclusion in this place.
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