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HANNAH.
The hill!
NOAH.
Ah, what d'ye think I've put off taking my man to Durnstone to now for? Why, I'm a goin' to get a glimpse of the racin', on my way over.
[_Opening the wicket in the cell door and looking in._] There he is!
Sulky! [_To HANNAH._] Hopen the hoven door, 'Annah, and let the smell of the cookin' get into him.
HANNAH.
Oh, no, Noah--it's torture!
NOAH.
Do as I tell'ee. [_She opens the oven door._] Torture! Of course it's torture! That's my rule! Whenever I get a 'old of a darned obstinate creature wot won't reveal his hindent.i.ty I hopens the hoven door.
[_He goes out into the street, and as he departs, the woful face of THE DEAN appears at the wicket, his head being still enveloped in the fur cap._
HANNAH.
[_Shutting the oven door._] Not me! Torturing prisoners might a' done for them Middling Ages what Noah's always clattering about, but not for my time o' life. I'll shut that wicket. [_Crossing close to the wicket, her face almost comes against THE DEAN'S. She gives a cry._]
The Dean!
THE DEAN.
Oh!
[_He disappears._
HANNAH.
Oh, no! Not my old master! Never the master! [_Tottering to the wicket and looking in._] Master! Look at me! It's 'Annah, your poor faithful servant, 'Annah!
[_The face of THE DEAN re-appears._
THE DEAN.
[_In a deep sad voice._] Hannah Evans.
HANNAH.
It's 'Annah Topping, Knee Evans, wife o' the Constable what's goin' to take you to cruel Durnstone. [_Sinking weeping upon the ground at the door._] Oh, Mr. Dean, sir, what have you been up to? What have you been up to? What have you been up to?
THE DEAN.
Woman, I am the victim of a misfortune only partially merited.
HANNAH.
[_On her knees, clasping her hands._] Tell me what you've done, Master dear; give it a name, for the love of goodness
THE DEAN.
My poor Hannah, I fear I have placed myself in an equivocal position.
HANNAH.
[_With a shriek of despair._] Ah!
THE DEAN.
Be quiet, woman!
HANNAH.
Is it a change o' cooking that's brought you to such ways? I cooked for you for seven 'appy years!
THE DEAN.
[_Sniffing._] Alas! you seem to have lost none of your culinary skill.
HANNAH.
Master, are you hungry?
THE DEAN.
I am sorely tried by your domestic preparations.
HANNAH.
[_With clenched hands and a determined look._] Oh! [_Quickly locking and bolting the street door._] Noah can't put that brute of a horse to under ten minutes. The dupplikit key o' the Strong Box! [_Producing a large key, with which she unlocks the cell door._] Master, you'll give me your patrol not to cut, won't you?
THE DEAN.
Under any other circ.u.mstances, Hannah, I should resent that insinuation.
HANNAH.
Don't resent nothing! Shove! Shove your hardest, Dean dear!
[_Pulling the door which opens sufficiently to let out THE DEAN._
THE DEAN.
[_As he enters the room._] Good day, Hannah; you have bettered yourself, I hope?
