Before going, Don Sanchez warned us that very likely Simon would pay us a visit suddenly, to satisfy any doubts that might yet crop up in his suspicious mind; and so, to be prepared for him, I got in a good store of paper and books, such as a merchant might require in seeking to reestablish himself in business, and Dawson held himself in readiness to do his share of this knavish business.

Sure enough, about three days after this, the drawer, who had been instructed to admit no one to my chamber without my consent, comes up to say that the little old man in leather, with the weak eyes, would see me; so I bade him in a high voice bid Mr. Simon step up, and setting myself before my table of paper, engage in writing a letter (already half writ), while Dawson slips out into the next room.

“Take a seat, Mr. Steward,” says I, when Simon entered, cap in hand, and casting a very prying, curious look around.  “I must keep you a minute or two”; and so I feign to be mighty busy, and give him scope for observation.

“Well, sir,” says I, finishing my letter with a flourish, and setting it aside.  “How do you fare?”

He raised his hands, and dropped them like so much lead on his knees, casting up his eyes and giving a doleful shake of his head for a reply.

“Nothing is amiss at the Court, I pray—­your lady Mistress Godwin is well?”

“I know not, friend,” says he.  “She hath taken my keys, denied me entrance to her house, and left me no privilege of my office save the use of the lodge house.  Thus am I treated like a faithless servant, after toiling night and day all these years, and for her advantage, rather than mine own.”

“That has to be proved, Mr. Steward,” says I, severely; “for you must admit that up to this present she has had no reason to love you, seeing that, had her fate been left in your hands, she would now be in Barbary, and like to end her days there.  How, then, can she think but that you had some selfish, wicked end in denying her the service we, who are strangers, have rendered her?”

“Thee speakest truth, friend, and yet thee knowest that I observed only the righteous prudence of an honest servant.”

“We will say no more on that head, but you may rest assured on my promise—­knowing as I do the noble, generous nature of your mistress—­that if she has done you wrong in suspecting you of base purpose, she will be the first to admit her fault and offer you reparation.”

“I seek no reparation, no reward, nothing in the world but the right to cherish this estate,” cries he, in passion; and, upon my looking at him very curiously, as not understanding the motive of such devotion, he continues:  “Thee canst not believe me, and yet truly I am neither a liar nor a madman.  What do others toil for?  A wife—­children—­friends—­the gratification of ambition or lust!  I have no kith or kin, no ambition, no lust; but this estate is wife, child, everything, to me.  ’Tis like some