usiness of the proposed loan,--"Is it to be always thus with
you?--Are you dreaming?"

"A vision of good omen, I trust," said the steward, with a triumphant
flourish of the hand; "far better than Pharaoh's, though, like his, it
be of fat kine."

"I prithee be plain, man," said the lady, "or fetch some one who can
speak to purpose."

"Why, odds-my-life, madam," said the steward, "mine errand can speak for
itself. Do you not hear them low? Do you not hear them bleat? A yoke of
fat oxen, and half a score prime wethers. The Castle is victualled for
this bout, let them storm when they will; and Gatherill may have his
d--d mains ploughed to the boot."

The lady, without farther questioning her elated domestic, rose and went
to the window, where she certainly beheld the oxen and sheep which had
given rise to Whitaker's exultation. "Whence come they?" said she, in
some surprise.

"Let them construe that who can," answered Whitaker; "the fellow who
drove them was a west-country man, and only said they came from a friend
to help to furnish out your ladyship's entertainment; the man would
not stay to drink--I am sorry he would not stay to drink--I crave your
ladyship's pardon for not keeping him by the ears to drink--it was not
my fault."

"That I'll be sworn it was not," said the lady.

"Nay, madam, by G--, I assure you it was not," said the zealous steward;
"for, rather than the Castle should lose credit, I drank his health
myself in double ale, though I had had my morning draught already. I
tell you the naked truth, my lady, by G--!"

"It was no great compulsion, I suppose," said the lady; "but, Whitaker,
suppose you should show your joy on such occasions, by drinking and
swearing a little less, rather than a little more, would it not be as
well, think you?"

"I crave your ladyship's pardon," said Whitaker, with much reverence; "I
hope I know my place. I am your ladyship's poor servant; and I know it
does not become me to drink and swear like your ladyship--that is, like
his honour, Sir Geoffrey, I would say. But I pray you, if I am not to
drink and swear after my degree, how are men to know Peveril of the
Peak's steward,--and I may say butler too, since I have had the keys of
the cellar ever since old Spigots was shot dead on the northwest turret,
with a black jack in his hand,--I say, how is an old Cavalier like me
to be known from those cuckoldly Roundheads that do nothing but fast and
pray, if we are not to drin