A ROUGH RECEPTION—THE JEW ON HIS TRAVELS—ANDY, THE MANIAC LOVER,
MEETS BARNABAS.
In selecting Barnabas as an especial messenger to Darlington, Colonel
Blood showed good judgment, for on more than one occasion the Jew had
ridden eighty miles in ten hours.
But Ellen’s friends had also selected a swift messenger, and a much
faster one than the Jew could ever prove to be.
The messenger was nothing else than a carrier pigeon.
In those days, when coaches were slow and letters unsafe for robbers,
gentlemen always had by them a number of trained pigeons, who carried
messages to and from their country seats.
When, therefore, Sir Richard had found out who Ellen Harmer really
was, he wrote a note, sent Tim up to the dormer to catch a pigeon,
and, having tied the note to its neck, he threw it off, and away it
went with lightning speed to its favourite home—Darlington Hall.
Hence the Jew had not gone far on his journey, when the pigeon, with
its important message, arrived at Darlington Hall.
It was speedily caught, and the note, as directed, was immediately
delivered to Miller Harmer, and read thus:—
“MY DEAR FRIEND HARMER,—I am happy to inform you that, through
the agency of my young scapegrace nephew, Ned Warbeck, we have
discovered your daughter Ellen, who was abducted some time ago.
Come up to town at once, as speedily as possible, for business of
great importance demands it.
“Yours in haste,
“RICHARD WARBECK.
“P.S.—Do not, on any account, whisper a word of your business to
any one, but maintain the strictest silence in the village and on
the road. R. W.”
Miller Harmer, the same hour in which the note arrived, mounted the
fleetest horse at Darlington Hall, and set out on his journey to
London at a giddy gallop.
He passed the disguised Jew upon the road, who asked the way to
Darlington.
“Do you know any one in the village of the name of Harmer?” asked the
Jew.
“Yes, I do,” answered the miller, with a wicked twinkle in his eye.
“Why do you ask?”
“He lost a daughter once?”
“He did.”
“Yes, poor man, it was a great affliction, wasn’t it?”
“No doubt,” said the miller, biting his lips. “Are you journeying to
Darlington with any news of her?”
“Yes; that is to say, I thought I’d call and inform her father that
she is well, happy and married.”
“Very kind of you, certainly,” said the miller.
“Which is his house?”
“Down by the mill-dam.”
“Do you think he would give me a warm reception?”
“No doubt of it, he couldn’t do otherwise to one who has put himself
out of the way to oblige him as you have.”
“Thank you, good day,” said the Jew.
“Good day,” said the miller, with a trembling lip.
And the horsemen parted company.
For many weary miles the Jew travelled on through sleet, and wind,
and rain.
The storm was very severe, and the clouds were rolling with heavy
thunder.
It was towards eleven o’clock at night when Barnabas came near to the
village of Darlington.
He had ridden far, and was weak and weary.
The rain poured down in torrents, and the night was so dark he could
scarcely see ten yards before him.
Fearful of losing his way, he determined to call and enquire at a
cottage close by.
He knocked at the door loudly with his riding whip, and the door was
opened by an aged woman.
“What do you want, kind sir?” she asked.
“My way to Darlington.”
“The right-hand road, sir, is the nearest,”
“Do you know Miller Harmer?.”
“I do.”
“And his daughter?”
“Yes, sir; why?”
“I came to inform him that his daughter Ellen—”
“That’s him! that’s him!” roared some one inside the cottage.
In an instant Andy, the maniac, rushed out to the cabin door, a heavy
club in hand. (See cut in No. 20.)
“That’s him! that’s him!” roared Andy, in a frightful passion, at the
same time he seized the horse by the reins and dealt the unfortunate
Jew three or four such terrible blows as knocked him off his horse
into the muddy road.
Barnabas was stunned, and bled freely.
He would have been killed on the spot by the maniac but that several
villagers passing by disarmed him, and led the youth, raving, back to
the cottage.
When the villagers returned to the spot, Barnabas had mounted his
horse again, with great difficulty, and galloped into the village of
Darlington, as if ten thousand demons were at his heels.