"I believes," answered the seemly confidant of Sir William Brandon, "that
he be's alive; and if he be's alive, may I flash my ivories in a glass
case, if I does not ferret him out; but as to saying vhere he be at this
nick o' the moment, smash me if I can!"

"Is he in this country," said Brandon; "or do you believe that he has
gone abroad?"

"Vy, much of one and not a little of the other!" said the euphonious
confidant.

"How! speak plain, man; what do you mean?"

"Vy, I means, your 'oner, that I can't say vhere he is."

"And this," said Brandon, with a muttered oath,--"this is your boasted
news, is it? Dog! damned, damned dog! if you trifle with me or play me
false, I will hang you,--by the living God, I will!"

The man shrank back involuntarily from Brandon's vindictive forehead and
kindled eyes; but with the cunning peculiar to low vice, answered, though
in a humbler tone,--

"And vet good vill that do your 'oner? If so be as how you scrags I,
will that put your vorship in the vay of finding _he_?"

Never was there an obstacle in grammar through which a sturdy truth could
not break; and Brandon, after a moody pause, said in a milder voice,--