For my mistress said the child was over young; and my master told me I had somewhat else to think of than such tomfoolery.
Howbeit, when I told them that, say what they pleased, Jeannette was mine, and that so soon as my time was up two years hence I should take her to myself with leave or without, they thought better of it, and yielded somewhat.
My mistress said, two years hence we should all be grown older, and if we were then of the same mind perchance she might be of another.

My master, too, counting to retain me in his service as a son-in-law, said there was time enough betwixt now and then.

And thus it came to pass Jeannette and I were left to our hopes, and needed no sweeter comfort to make the weeks fly.
But, one day early in February, as I walked on my master's business near Charing, I saw a sight which made me uneasy on another's behalf.

For there, at the road corner as you go to Whitehall, I perceived a man who pulled out a purse and gave it to another; and when I looked closer, I saw that he who gave was Captain Merriman, and he who received was my old fellow-apprentice, Peter Stoupe.
Instantly, although I heard not a word, and there might have been a hundred other considerations, I took it into my head that this business meant mischief to Ludar.

And, cudgelling my brains further, I called to mind how, that memorable night in Moorfields, while I talked with the drunken sergeant, Peter had sneaked past us, and put my sweet little mistress in a flutter.
What if, instead of heeding us, he had been listening to what the soldier said?
He knew or guessed enough of the maiden's story--having heard me tell it often--to put two and two together.