'Will you have something, Dudley?' asked Milly.
'No, lass; but I'll look at ye, and maybe drink a drop for company.'
And with these words, he took a sportsman's flask from his pocket; and
helping himself to a large glass and a decanter, he compounded a glass of
strong brandy-and-water, as he talked, and refreshed himself with it from
time to time.
'Curate's up wi' the Governor,' he said, with a grin. 'I wanted a word wi'
him; but I s'pose I'll hardly git in this hour or more; they're a praying
and disputing, and a Bible-chopping, as usual. Ha, ha! But 'twon't hold
much longer, old Wyat says, now that Uncle Austin's dead; there's nout to
be made o' praying and that work no longer, and it don't pay of itself.'
'O fie! For shame, you sinner!' laughed Milly. 'He wasn't in a church these
five years, he says, and then only to meet a young lady. Now, isn't he a
sinner, Maud--isn't he?'
Dudley, grinning, looked with a languishing slyness at me, biting the edge
of his wide-awake, which he held over his breast.
Dudley Ruthyn probably thought there was a manly and desperate sort of
fascination in the impiety he professed.
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