A gentler spirit than poor Feltram, a more good-natured soul than the
old housekeeper, were nowhere among the children of earth.

Philip Feltram, who was reserved enough elsewhere, used to come into her
room and cry, and take her by both hands piteously, standing before her
and looking down in her face, while tears ran deviously down his cheeks.

"Did you ever know such a case? was there ever a fellow like _me_? did
you ever _know_ such a thing? You know what I am, Mrs. Julaper, and who
I am. They call me Feltram; but Sir Bale knows as well as I that my true
name is not that. I'm Philip Mardykes; and another fellow would make a
row about it, and claim his name and his rights, as she is always
croaking in my ear I ought. But you know that is not reasonable. My
grandmother was married; she was the true Lady Mardykes; _think_ what it
was to see a woman like that turned out of doors, and her children
robbed of their name. O, ma'am, you _can't_ think it; unless you were
me, you couldn't--you couldn't--you couldn't!"

"Come, come, Master Philip, don't you be taking on so; and ye mustn't be
talking like that, d'ye mind? You know he wouldn't stand that; and it's
an old story now, and there's naught can be proved concerning it; and
what I think is this--I wouldn't wonder the poor lady was beguiled. But
anyhow she surely thought she was his lawful wife; and though the law
may hev found a flaw somewhere--and I take it 'twas so--yet sure I am
she was an honourable lady. But where's the use of stirring that old
sorrow? or how can ye prove aught? and the dead hold their peace, you
know; dead mice, they say, feels no cold; and dead folks are past
fooling. So don't you talk like that; for stone walls have ears, and ye
might say that ye couldn't _un_say; and death's day is doom's day. So
leave all in the keeping of God; and, above all, never lift hand when ye