“And that would be a pity, in good sooth, squire,” replied Fogg; “for there are no fish like those of the Ribble.  Nothing I should prefer to the sport you promise; but I thought you had other business for me to-day?  Another attempt to borrow money—­eh?”

“Ay, from my cousin, Dick Assheton,” rejoined Nicholas; “he will lend me the thirty pounds, I am quite sure.  But you had better defer the visit till to-morrow, when his father, Sir Richard, will be at Whalley, and when you can have him to yourself.  Dick will not say you nay, depend on’t; he is too good a fellow for that.  A murrain on those close-fisted curmudgeons, Roger Nowell, Nicholas Townley, and Tom Whitaker.  They ought to be delighted to oblige me.”

“But they declare they have no money,” said Fogg.

“No money!—­pshaw!” exclaimed Nicholas; “an idle excuse.  They have chests full.  Would I had all Roger Nowell’s gold, I should not require another supply for years.  But, ’sdeath!  I will not trouble myself for a paltry thirty pounds.”

“If I might venture to suggest, squire, while you are about it, I would ask for a hundred pounds, or even two or three hundred,” said Fogg.  “Your friends will think all the better of you, and feel more satisfied you intend to repay them.”

“Do you think so!” cried Nicholas.  “Then, by Plutus, it shall be three hundred pounds—­three hundred at interest.  Dick will have to borrow the amount to lend it to me; but, no matter, he will easily obtain it.  Harkye, Fogg, while you are at Middleton, endeavour to ascertain whether any thing has been arranged about the marriage of a certain young lady to a certain young gentleman.  I am curious to know the precise state of affairs in that quarter.”

“I will arrive at the truth, if possible, squire,” replied Fogg; “but I should scarcely think Sir Richard would assent to his son’s union with the daughter of a notorious witch.”

“Sir Richard’s son is scarcely likely to ask Sir Richard’s consent,” said Nicholas; “and as to Mistress Nutter, though heavy charges have been brought against her, nothing has been proved, for you know she escaped, or rather was rescued, on her way to Lancaster Castle.”

“I am fully aware of it, squire,” replied Fogg; “and I more than suspect a worthy friend of mine had a hand in her deliverance and could tell where to find her if needful.  But that is neither here nor there.  The lady is quite innocent, I dare say.  Indeed, I am quite sure of it, since you espouse her cause so warmly.  But the world is malicious, and strange things are reported of her.”

“Heed not the world, Fogg,” rejoined Nicholas.  “The world speaks well of no man, be his deserts what they may.  The world says that I waste my estate in wine, women, and horseflesh—­that I spend time in pleasures which might be profitably employed—­that I neglect my wife, forget my religious observances, am on horseback when I should be afoot, at the alehouse when I should be at home,