Sir Geoffrey shook his head at first, and then laughed extremely at the idea that there was some little love-intrigue between Bridgenorth and Mistress Deborah.
"It is the true end of a dissenter," he said, "to marry his own maid-servant, or some other person's.

Deborah is a good likely wench, and on the merrier side of thirty, as I should think." "Nay, nay," said the Lady Peveril, "you are as uncharitable as Ellesmere--I believe it but to be affection to his child." "Pshaw! pshaw!" answered the Knight, "women are eternally thinking of children; but among men, dame, many one carresses the infant that he may kiss the child's maid; and where's the wonder or the harm either, if Bridgenorth should marry the wench?
Her father is a substantial yeoman; his family has had the same farm since Bosworthfield--as good a pedigree as that of the great-grandson of a Chesterfield brewer, I trow.

But let us hear what he says for himself--I shall spell it out if there is any roguery in the letter about love and liking, though it might escape your innocence, Dame Margaret." The Knight of the Peak began to peruse the letter accordingly, but was much embarrassed by the peculiar language in which it was couched.

"What he means by moving of candlesticks, and breaking down of carved work in the church, I cannot guess; unless he means to bring back the large silver candlesticks which my grandsire gave to be placed on the altar at Martindale Moultrassie; and which his crop-eared friends, like sacrilegious villains as they are, stole and melted down.

And in like manner, the only breaking I know of, was when they pulled down the rails of the communion table (for which some of their fingers are hot enough by this time), and when the brass ornaments were torn down from Peveril monuments; and that was breaking and removing with a vengeance.