THE DISMISSAL.
It was after dinner. Sir John and his friends had somehow been
less jovial than usual; they were absolutely dull enough to be talking
politics. So, when the boy of many buttons tapped at the door, and
meekly brought in Jonathan's message, recounting also how he had got Mr.
Jennings in tow for some inexplicable crime, the strangeness of the
affair was a very welcome incident: both host and guests hailed it an
adventure.
"By all means, let Jonathan come in."
The trio were just outside; and when the blue and silver footman,
hauling in by his unrelinquished throat that scared bailiff, and
followed by the blushing village beauty, stood within the room, Sir John
and his half-dozen friends greeted the _tableau_ with united
acclamations.
"I say, Pypp, that's a devilish fine creature," metaphorically remarked
the Honorable Lionel Poynter.
"Yaas." Lord George was a long, sallow, slim young man, with a goatish
beard, like the Duc d'Aumale's; he affected extreme fashion and infinite
_sangfroid_.
"Well, Jonathan, what is it?" asked the baronet.
"Why, in one word, my honoured master, this scoundrel here has been
wickedly insulting my own poor dear Grace, by promising to save her
father from the gallows if--if--"
"If what, man? speak out," said Mr. Poynter.
"You don't mean to say, Jennings, that you are brute enough to be
seducing that poor man Roger's daughter, just as he's going to be tried
for his life?" asked Sir John.
Simon uttered nothing in reply; but Grace burst into tears.
"A fair idea that, 'pon my honour," drawled the chivalrous Pypp,
proceeding to direct his delicate attentions towards the weeping damsel.
"Simon Jennings," said Sir John, after pausing in vain for his reply, "I
have long wished to get rid of you, sir. Silence! I know you, and have
been finding out your rascally proceedings these ten days past. I have
learnt much, more than you may fancy: and now this crowning villany
[what if he had known of the ulterior designs?] gives me fair occasion
to say once and for ever, begone!"
Jennings drew himself up with an air of insufferable impudence, and
quietly answered,
"John Vincent, I am proud to leave your service. I trust I can afford to
live without your help."
There was a general outcry at this speech, and Jonathan collared him
again; but the baronet calmly set all straight by saying,
"Perhaps, sir, you may not be aware that your systematic thievings and
extortions have amply justified me in detaining your iron chest and
other valuables, until I find out how you may have come by them."
This was the _coup de grace_ to Jennings, who looked scared and
terrified:--what! all gone--all, his own beloved hoard, and that
dear-bought crock of gold? Then Sir John added, after one minute of
dignified and indignant silence,
"Begone!--Jonathan put him out; and if you will kick him out of the
hall-door on your private account, I'll forgive you for it."
With that, the liveried Antinous raised the little monster by the small
of the back, drew him struggling from the presence, and lifting him up
like a football, inflicted one enormous kick that sent him spinning down
the whole flight of fifteen marble stairs. This exploit accomplished to
the satisfaction of all parties, Jonathan naturally enough returned to
look for Grace; and his master, with a couple of friends who had run to
the door to witness the catastrophe, returned immediately before him.
"Lord George Pypp, you will oblige me by leaving the young woman alone;"
was Sir John's first angry reproof when he perceived the rustic beauty
radiant with indignation at some mean offence.
"The worthy baronet wa-ants her for himself," drawled Pypp.
"Say that again, my lord, and you shall follow Jennings."
Whilst the noble youth was slowly elaborating a proper answer,
Jonathan's voice was heard once more: he had long looked very white,
kept both hands clenched, and seemed as if, saving his master's
presence, he could, and would have vanquished the whole room of them.
"Master, have I your honour's permission to speak?"
"No, Jonathan, I'll speak for you; if, that is to say, Lord George
will--"
"Paardon me, Sir John Devereux Vincent, your feyllow--and his master,
are not fit company for Lord George Pypp;"--and he leisurely proceeded
to withdraw.
"Stop a minute, Pypp, I've just one remark to make," hurriedly exclaimed
Mr. Lionel Poynter, "if Sir John will suffer me; Vincent, my good
friend, we are wrong--Pypp's wrong, and so am I. First then, let me beg
pardon of a very pretty girl, for making her look prettier by blushes;
next, as the maid really is engaged to you, my fine fellow, it is not
beneath a gentleman to say, I hope that you'll forgive me for too warmly
admiring your taste; as for George's imputation, Vincent--"
"I beyg to observe," enunciated the noble scion, "I'm awf, Poynter."
He gradually drew himself away, and the baronet never saw him more.
"For shame, Pypp!" shouted after him the warm-hearted Siliphant; "I tell
you what it is, Vincent, you must let me give a toast:--'Grace and her
lover!' here, my man, your master allows you to take a glass of wine
with us; help your beauty too."
The toast was drank with high applause: and before Jonathan humbly led
away his pleased and blushing Grace, he took an opportunity of saying,
"If I may be bold enough to speak, kind gentlemen, I wish to thank you:
I oughtn't to be long, for I am nothing but your servant; let it be
enough to say my heart is full. And I'm in hopes it wouldn't be very
wrong in me, kind gentlemen, to propose;--'My noble master--honour and
happiness to him!'"
"Bravo! Jonathan, bravo-o-o-o!" there was a clatter of glasses;--and the
humble pair of lovers retreated under cover of the toast.