"No, sir," said Mrs. Goudie, "I hadn't 'a' heard of it."
"Then that proves how close he kept. No doubt he came and went as surreptitiously as he could. Let it be between ourselves, Mrs. Goudie. Don't spread the tale an inch beyond us three."
"I will not, sir. But, oh, well-a-day, it's a bad bit o' news, sir. I did hope Mr. Bates was cured o' that runnin' sore."
She had been summoned from the kitchen just before leaving for the night; and with her shawl over her head, her wrinkled face working, and her bony hands clasped she stood near the table and waited for Mr. Dale to give the signal for her to withdraw.
"If you should see him, at any time, let me know, Mrs. Goudie."
"I will, sir."
"I might perhaps do good, if I could get hold of him on the quiet and address a few words to him."
"I wish you'd break his neck for him, yes, I do, indeed I do. I could tell you things as 'd make any one say hanging was too good for him."
And, encouraged to talk freely, Mrs. Goudie told Mavis and Dale, what indeed she had often told them before, of the shocking badness of Richard Bates and the ugly scenes that had taken place in this very house; of how he bullied his father to give him money, storming and raving like a lunatic when resisted; and of how the old fellow alone by himself had groaned and wept and prayed. Mrs. Goudie had heard him, after a most dreadful quarrel, praying out loud in his room up-stairs.
"An' believe me, sir, he was a praying for his son all the time--imploring of the Lord to soften his heart like, and save him from the hell-fire that his conduct asked for. You know, sir, he's a very God-fearing man, Mr. Bates."