“Here be the ‘Flying Postman,’ madam, with the great speech of Mr. Burke in it about the port of Boston; but it won’t do a mossel o’ good, madam, though he do tell ’em to keep their hands out o’ the Americans’ pockets.”

“The port of Boston?”

“See you, madam, they are a-going to shut the port o’ Boston, and make Salem the place of entry; that’s to punish the Bostonians; and Mr. Burke, he says, ’The House has been told that Salem is only seventeen miles from Boston but justice is not an idea of geography, and the Americans are condemned without being heard.  Yet the universal custom, on any alteration of charters, is to hear the parties at the bar of the House.  Now, the question is, Are the Americans to be heard, or not, before the charter is broken for our convenience?...  The Boston bill is a diabolical bill.’”

He read aloud this bit of Mr. Burke’s fiery eloquence, in a high, droning voice, and would, according to his custom, have continued the entertainment; but Katherine, preferring to use her own intelligence, borrowed the paper and was about to leave the room with it, when he suddenly remembered a scarf of great beauty which he had not shown.

“I bought it for my Lady Suffolk,” he said; “but Lord Suffolk died sudden, and black my lady had to wear.  It’s forrin, madam; and here it is—­the very colour of affradiles.  But mayhap, as it is candle-teening, you’d like to wait till the day comes again.”

A singular look of speculation came into Katherine’s face.  She examined the scarf without delay; and, as she fingered the delicate silk, she led the man on to talk of Lady Suffolk, though, indeed, he scarcely needed the stimulus of questioning.  Without regard as to whether Katherine was taking any interest or not in his information, he detailed with hurried avidity the town talk that had clung to her reputation for so many years; and he so fully described the handsome cavalry officer that was her devoted attendant that Katherine had no difficulty in recognizing her husband, even without the clews which her own knowledge of the parties gave her.

She stood in the gray light by the window, fingering the delicate satin, and listening.  The pedler glanced from his goods to her face, and talked rapidly, interloping bits of news about the court and the fashions; but going always back to Lady Suffolk and her lover, and what was likely to take place now that Lord Suffolk was out of the way.  “Though there’s them that do say the captain has a comely wife hid up in the country.”

Suddenly she turned and faced the stooping man:  “Your scarf take:  I will not have it.  No, and I will not have anything that I have bought from you.  All of the goods you shall receive back; and my money, give it to me.  You are no honest hawker:  you are a bad man, who have come here for a bad woman.  You know that of my husband you have been talking—­I mean lying.  You know that this is his house, and that his true wife am I. Not one more word shall you speak.—­Lettice, bring here all the goods I bought from this man; poisoned may be the unguents and scents and gloves.  Of such things I have heard.”