Tarningham Park was exceedingly quiet; for Sir John Slingsby was out
at dinner some five miles off, and his merry activity being removed,
every living thing seemed to think itself entitled to take some
repose. Mrs. Clifford, who had been far from well for several days,
and had not quitted her room during the whole morning, had gone to
bed, Mary and Isabella were conversing quietly--perhaps sadly--in the
drawing-room, the butler snored in the pantry, the ladies' maids and
footmen were enjoying a temporary calm in their several spheres, and
cook, scullions, and housemaids were all taxing their energies to do
nothing with the most meritorious perseverance. Even the hares hopped
more deliberately upon the lawns, and the cock-pheasants strutted with
more tranquil grandeur. Every one seemed to know that Sir John
Slingsby was absent, and that there was no need to laugh, or talk, or
dance, or sing, or eat, or drink, more than was agreeable. The very
air seemed to participate in the general feeling, for, whereas it had
been somewhat boisterous and keen during the day, it sunk into a calm,
heavy, chilly sleep towards night, and the leaves rested motionless
upon the trees, as if weary of battling with the wind.
"We will have a fire, Mary," said Isabella; "though it be summer in
the calendar, it is winter in the field, and I do not see why we
should regulate our comfort by the almanac. Papa will not be home till
twelve, and though he will be warm enough, I dare say, that will do
nothing for us."
As she spoke she rose to ring the bell; but at the same moment another
bell rang, being that of the chief entrance, and both Miss Slingsby
and her cousin looked aghast at the idea of a visitor. Some time
elapsed before their apprehensions were either confirmed or removed;
for there was a good deal of talking at the glass-door; but at first
the servant did not choose to come in with any explanation. At length,
however, a footman appeared in very white stockings and laced
knee-bands, saying, with a grin, "If you please, Ma'am, there is little
Billy Lamb at the door wishes to see you. He asked for Sir John first.
I told him he couldn't, for you were engaged; but he said he was sure
you would, and teased me just to tell you he was here."
"Billy Lamb!" said Isabella. "Who is that?--Oh, I remember: is not
that the poor boy at the White Hart?"
"Yes, Ma'am," replied the footman, "the little humpback that you gave
half-a-crown to one day when he was whistling so beautiful."
"Oh, I will see him, of course," said Isabella, much to the footman's
amazement, who could not see the 'of course;' "I will come out and
speak with him."
"Have him brought in here, Bella," said Mary, "I know the poor boy
well, and his mother, too. The daughter is dead; she married badly, I
believe, and died two or three years ago."
"Bring him in," said Miss Slingsby to the servant, and the man retired
to fulfil her commands. As Billy Lamb entered the room the two fair
girls, both so beautiful yet so unlike each other, advanced towards
the door to meet him; and stood before the poor deformed boy leaning
slightly towards each other, with their arms linked together. The boy
remained near the entrance, and the footman held the door open behind
him till Miss Slingsby nodded her head as an intimation that his
presence was not required.
"Well, William," said Isabella, as the man departed, "how are you, and
what is it you want?"
"And your poor mother, William," said Mary Clifford, "I have not seen
her a long while, how is she?"
"She is much better, thank you, Ma'am," replied the boy. "She is
reconciled with Stephen, now, and has gone to be with him up in the
cottage, and take care of his little boy, my poor sister's orphan, and
so she is much better." Then turning to Isabella, he went on--"I am
quite well, thank you, Miss; but somehow my heart is very down just
now, for I came up to tell Sir John something very terrible and very
bad."
"Is it magistrate's business, William? or can I give you any help?"
asked Isabella.
"Oh dear no, Miss Slingsby," replied the boy, "it is not about myself
at all, but about Sir John;" and he looked up in her face with his
clear, bright, intelligent eyes, as if beseeching her to understand
him without forcing him to further explanations.
But Isabella did not understand him at all; and she inquired--"What do
you mean, my good lad? I am sure my father will be glad to do any
thing he can for you; and I do not think that you would yourself do
any thing very terrible and very bad, such as you speak of."
"Hush, Isabella," said her cousin, whose heart was a more apprehensive
one than her cousin's, and who had some glimmering of dangers or
sorrows hidden under the boy's obscure words: "Let him explain
himself. Tell us, William, exactly what you mean. If wrong has been
done you, we will try to make it right; but you spoke of my uncle: has
any thing happened to Sir John?"
"No, Miss Mary," replied Billy Lamb, "but I fear evil may happen to
him if something is not done to stop it."
"But of what kind?" asked Isabella, anxiously: "tell us all about it.
What is it you fear? Where did you get your information?"
"From Mr. Bacon," answered the boy, simply, "the little lawyer at
Tarningham, Ma'am. He's not a bad man, nor an unkind man either, like
Mr. Wharton; and, though he did not just bid me come up and tell Sir
John, yet he said he very much wished he knew what was going to
happen. Then he said he could not write about it, for it was no
business of his, as he was but acting for others, and he did not like
to send a message because--"
"But what is it?" exclaimed Mary Clifford and Isabella together. "In
pity's name, my good boy, do not keep us in suspense."
"Why, Ma'am, he said," continued the boy, in a sad tone, and casting
down his eyes, "that to-morrow there would be an execution put in
here--that means that they will seize every thing. I know that, for
they did so six months after my father died. Then he said that very
likely Sir John would be arrested, unless he could pay five thousand
pounds down at once."
Isabella sunk down in a chair overwhelmed, exclaiming, "Good Heaven!"
"This is what Captain Hayward told us of!" said Mary Clifford, putting
her hand to her brow, and speaking rather to herself than to her
cousin. "How unfortunate that he should be absent now. This duel,
depend upon it, has prevented him from taking the means he proposed
for averting this blow. I feel sure he could and would have done so as
he promised."
"Oh, whatever Ned Hayward promised he was able to perform," answered
Isabella, "nothing but some unfortunate circumstance, such as this
duel, has prevented him. He is as true and open as the day, Mary. What
would I not give for but five minutes' conversation with him now."
"Would you? Would you?" said the musical voice of the poor boy. "I
think if you want them, you can have them very soon."
"Oh, you dear good boy!" cried Isabella, starting up, "send him here
directly, if you know where he is. Tell him that my father's safety
depends entirely upon him: tell him we are ruined if he does not
come."
"I do not think I can send him," said the boy in a disappointed tone.
"I don't think he can come: but if you like to go and see him, I will
venture to take you where he is; for I am sure you would not do him a
great injury, and say any thing of where he is hid."
"Go to him?" exclaimed Isabella; "why, it is growing quite dark, my
good William. How can I go? But this is folly and weakness," she
exclaimed the next moment, "when my father's liberty and character are
at stake, shall I hesitate to go any where. I will go, William. Where
is it? Is it far?"
"Stay, dear Isabella," said her cousin, "if needful, I will go with
you. This is a case which I think may justify what would be otherwise
improper. But let me ask one or two questions. You say Mr. Bacon told
you this, William. If he wished my uncle to know the facts, why did he
not send one of his clerks?"
"Why he said, Miss Mary, that he had no right," answered the boy, "he
seemed in a great flurry, and as if he did not well know what to do;
but he asked if I had seen Sir John in town; for he generally comes to
the White Hart, you know; and told me to let him know if I chanced to
meet with him in town, because he wanted to speak with him
exceedingly. And then he went on that he did not know that he ought to
tell him either; for he had got an execution to take to-morrow, here,
and to have a writ against him the first thing to-morrow, and a great
deal more that I forget. But he said he was very sorry, and would
almost give one of his hands not to have it to do. At last he said I
was not to tell any body in the town what he had said, but that I
might tell Sir John if I saw him, so I came away here, Miss, as soon
as I could."
"But where is Captain Hayward to be found, then?" asked Miss Clifford.
"You must tell us that before we can make up our minds, William."
"I may as well tell you as take you," replied the boy, "but I must go
on before to say you are coming. He is at Ste Gimlet's, with him and
my mother, and has been there ever since he shot Mr. Wittingham."
"Oh, I shall not mind going there," cried Isabella, "it will not call
for observation from the servants, but if he had been at an inn, it
would have been terrible."
Mary Clifford smiled; for she was one of those who valued proprieties
_nearly_ at their right worth, if not quite. She never violated them
rashly; for no pleasure, or amusement, or mere personal gratification
would she transgress rules which society had framed, even though she
might think them foolish; but with a great object, a good purpose, and
a clear heart, she was ready to set them at nought. "I will go very
willingly with you, dear Bella," she said. "Captain Hayward went to
London, I know, for the express purpose of providing the means of
averting this calamity; but, from some words which he let drop, I
fancy he believed that it was not likely to fall upon us so soon.
There is no way that I see of aiding your father but by seeing and
consulting with this old friend. You said all this would happen early
tomorrow, William?" she continued, turning again to the boy.
"As soon as it was light, Miss Mary," replied poor Billy Lamb.
"Oh, Heaven, I will order the carriage directly," said Isabella, "run
on, there's a good lad, and let Captain Hayward know I am coming. You
can tell him why, and all about it."
The boy retired, and sped away by the shortest paths towards his
brother-in-law's cottage. In the mean while the carriage was ordered;
but Sir John had got the chariot with him; the barouche had not
been out for some time; and the coachman thought fit to dust it.
Three-quarters of an hour passed ere the lamps were lighted and all
was ready, and then a footman with gold-laced hat in hand stood by the
side of the vehicle, to hand the ladies in and accompany them.
Isabella, however, told him that he would not be wanted, and gave the
order to drive to Stephen Gimlet's cottage.
"Ay!" said the footman, as he turned into the house again, "Billy
Lamb's mother is there. Now they'll do the young ladies out of a
guinea or two, I'll warrant. What fools women are, to be sure!"
While he thus moralised, the carriage rolled slowly on in the dark
night, drawn by two tall pursey horses and driven by a coachman of the
same qualities, neither of whom at all approved of being unexpectedly
taken out at that hour of the night; for dinner parties were rare in
the neighbourhood of Tarningham Park, balls were rarer still, and Sir
John Slingsby was much fonder of seeing what he called a set of jolly
fellows at his own house than of going out to find them, so that none
of his horses were at all accustomed to trot by candlelight. Nearly
half an hour more elapsed before the carriage entered the quiet lane
unaccustomed to the sound of any wheels but those of a waggon, or a
taxed-cart, and at length the reins were drawn in at the door of the
cottage. The house looked unpromising; not a light was to be seen,
for, strange to say, window-shutters had been put up to every casement
of Stephen Gimlet's dwelling, though one would not have supposed him a
man addicted to such luxuries. The coachman felt his dignity hurt at
having to descend from the box and open the carriage-door, the
respectability of the whole family seemed to suffer in his eyes; but,
nevertheless, he did it, and as he did so the horses moved on two or
three yards, of which Isabella was glad, for she reflected that if the
coachman saw into the cottage, he might see the inmates also. Ere she
went in, she told him to drive back to the style some two hundred
yards down the lane, and if the boy Billy Lamb came over--it was his
way from Tarningham Park--to keep him with the carriage. Then, with
two hearts which it must be confessed fluttered sadly, Isabella and
Mary knocked at the cottage-door, and scarcely waiting for reply
opened it in haste and went in. Mary's heart fluttered at the thought
of seeing Ned Hayward, as well as at the feeling of taking a somewhat
unusual step; but Isabella's flutter was solely on the latter account
till the door was open, and then it became worse than ever on another
score.
The first object she saw straight before her was Mr. Beauchamp, who
was standing in the midst of the little parlour of the cottage,
talking to the poor boy, Billy Lamb, while Mrs. Lamb and Stephen
Gimlet were placed near the wide cottage hearth.
The moment that Miss Slingsby's face appeared, Beauchamp turned from
the boy, saying,
"Here are the ladies themselves. Now go home, my good boy; and if your
master is angry at your absence, tell him I will explain all to him.
My dear Miss Slingsby, I am delighted to see you and your fair cousin.
The boy says you wish to speak with Captain Hayward. He is in the room
above. I will tell him immediately;" and, after shaking hands with
both of the ladies, he turned away and went upstairs.
Mary whispered eagerly with Isabella; and Stephen Gimlet touched his
mother-in-law's arm, as he saw that there was evidently a good deal of
agitation in their fair visitors' manner, saying,
"Come, Goody, it wont give you cold, I dare say, to walk out for a bit
with me. They'll want to talk together," he added, in a low voice,
"and if it's cold we'll go into the little vestry of the church."
The old woman looked towards the back-room, where the child was
sleeping; but Stephen answered her, ere she spoke, whispering,
"No, no, we should hear it all there."
Goody Lamb put her shawl over her head, while he took down the key of
the church; and Mary's eye catching their movements, she said,
"Only for a few minutes, Mrs. Lamb. I should like to speak with you
when we have said a few words to Captain Hayward."
Mrs. Lamb dropped a courtesy, and went out with her son-in-law; and
the next moment, a slow step was heard coming down the stairs.
"Good Heaven, you are ill, Captain Hayward," cried Isabella, as her
father's friend presented himself, followed by Beauchamp. Mary
Clifford said nothing, but she felt more.
"Oh, I shall soon be well again, my dear Miss Slingsby," answered Ned
Hayward; "the ball is out, and I am recovering quite fast--only a
little weak."
"Hayward tells me I shall not be one too many," said Beauchamp; "but
if I am, Miss Slingsby, send me away, remembering, however, that you
may command me in any other way as well as that."
What a difference there is between enterprise and execution! How the
difficulties grow upon us at every step of the mountain path, and how
faint the heart feels at the early obstacles which we had altogether
overlooked, Isabella Slingsby had thought it would be the easiest
thing in the world to enter upon the state of her father's affairs
with Ned Hayward. He was so old a friend; he had known her father
since he was himself sixteen years of age; he had himself given the
first warning, had opened the way. It had seemed to her, indeed, that
there would not be the slightest difficulty, that there could not be
any obstacle; but now, when she had to speak of all, her heart sank,
her courage failed her; and she strove to turn the conversation to any
other subject--only for a moment, till she recovered thought and
breath.
"Oh, no! Do not go, Mr. Beauchamp," she said. "But how ill Captain
Hayward looks. We had no idea he had been wounded. They said that Mr.
Wittingham was the only sufferer."
"I can assure you, it is nothing," replied Ned Hayward; "but you must
sit down, my dear young lady;" and with his left arm he put a seat for
Miss Slingsby, while Beauchamp did the same good office for Mary
Clifford. "I am sure that you have something important to say, and I
guess what it is," the young officer continued; "Miss Clifford, you
told your cousin a very painful communication I made to you ten or
twelve days ago. Is it not so? and she has come to speak upon that
subject?"
"I did, Captain Hayward," answered Mary Clifford; "I told her all you
had said--and your generous and noble offer to assist Sir John in the
most pressing emergency. Her own knowledge confirmed in a great degree
the fact of great danger; but we feared that this unfortunate duel
might have interfered with your plans, and knew not where to find you,
or communicate with you."
"I did not forget what I had undertaken," answered Ned Hayward; "but
like a thoughtless fool, as I am, I forgot I might be wounded, Miss
Clifford, or that I might be forced to run for it. Well may the good
people call me thoughtless Ned Hayward; for I remembered that I might
be killed, and provided against it; but I did not recollect any thing
else, and ordered the money to be remitted to the bank here at
Tarningham. The ball went into my shoulder, however, and I have been
unable to write ever since; otherwise I would have sent the cheque
long ago, to be used whenever it was needed. I hope to be able to
write as well as ever in a few days; so put your mind quite at ease
upon that score. As for the mortgage, which is, I suppose, in train
for immediate fore-closure, we must think what can be done some other
way; for I am a poor man, as you know, and have not the means of
lending the amount;" and, as he spoke, he turned his eyes towards
Beauchamp.
Ned Hayward calculated that there would be plenty of time to make all
his arrangements; but such fancies were dissipated in a moment by
Isabella's reply:--
"Did not the boy tell you," she asked, "that every thing you feared,
is to take place to-morrow? He came up to warn us. That good little
man, Bacon, the attorney, sent him."
"No, Isabella," said Mary Clifford, "he did not exactly send him; but
he told him the facts, evidently that they might reach my uncle's
ears; and the boy came up to tell us. I was sure, Captain Hayward,"
she added, with a glowing cheek, "that you would do what you could to
aid, and that, if you could not aid, you would advise us how to act.
We therefore came on here, without hesitation; for no time is to be
lost, and Sir John is unfortunately out at dinner."
"Very luckily, rather," said Ned Hayward. "No time, indeed, is to be
lost, if such be the state of things. I must write the cheque at once,
some way or another. There is a pen and ink in my little room, I will
go and get it."
"But can you write?" asked Mary, anxiously; "can you, without injury
to yourself?"
"Nay, stay, Hayward, stay," said Beauchamp; "you mentioned the subject
of the mortgage to me the other day. What is the amount, can you
tell?"
"About fifty thousand pounds, and the devil himself knows how much
interest," answered Ned Hayward; "for I do not think Sir John has any
idea."
"Nay, then I fear you must write the cheque," said Beauchamp, gravely;
"for I must not diminish the amount in the bank; but I will get the
pen and ink. We are a sort of prisoners here, Miss Slingsby, and dare
not show ourselves till Mr. Wittingham's state is better ascertained,
or we should long ago have endeavoured to put your mind at rest upon
these subjects. However, we hear the young man is better, and
therefore I trust we shall not be obliged to play at hide and seek
much longer."
Thus saying, he went up the stairs again, but was several minutes ere
he returned, during which time, though occasionally falling into fits
of grave thought, Ned Hayward laughed and talked gaily; from time to
time stealing a quiet look at the fair face of Mary Clifford, as she
leaned her arm upon the table, and gazed somewhat sadly at the embers
of the gamekeeper's fire.
At length Mr. Beauchamp made his appearance once more, and sitting
down to the table with a cheque-book before him, Ned Hayward, with a
laugh, took the pen in his hand, saying,
"I must dash it off in haste, or it will be pronounced a forgery. So
here is for it," and with a rapid stroke or two he filled up the
cheque for the sum of twelve thousand pounds, and signed his name. His
cheek turned pale as he wrote; and Mary Clifford saw it, but that was
the only sign of pain that he suffered to appear. Then, throwing down
the pen, he took the paper with his left hand, and gave it to Miss
Slingsby.
"There," he said, "I have had you on my knee twelve years ago, and
called you dear little Bella; but I never thought you would give me so
much pleasure as you do now."
"Well, Ned Hayward," exclaimed Isabella, with her eyes running over,
"you are certainly the best and noblest creature in the world."
Mary Clifford's lips murmured something very like "He is."
Beauchamp looked on with an expression of grave pleasure; but scarcely
was the check signed and given, when the door of the cottage opened
suddenly, and Stephen Gimlet took a step over the threshold, saying,
"I have caught him, gentlemen, I have caught him like a rat in a
trap."
"Whom have you caught?" asked Beauchamp, turning quickly towards him.
"Why, the fellow who fired the shot in at the window," answered
Stephen Gimlet.
"That is glorious!" exclaimed Ned Hayward. "Where is he? What have you
done with him?"
"I should not have meddled with him, perhaps," said the gamekeeper,
"if I had not found him meddling with the registers in the church,
which I know he has no right to do. I and Goody Lamb went out for a
bit into the churchyard, and, as she found the wind cold, we opened
the little door at this side of the church and went in; I had not been
in a minute, when I heard some one talking plain enough, but I could
not see any body for the life of me. I told Goody Lamb to stand behind
the pillar by the pulpit, while I went to see; but before I could take
a step, up out of the Moreton vault came two men with a lantern. One
of them was this fellow; and the other was the old sexton; and they
walked straight across towards the vestry; but, just a little way from
the door, the old sexton stopped and said, 'I can't, captain, it is
nothing better than forgery;' or something like that; and the other
fellow took the lantern and went on into the vestry. So I said to
Goody Lamb, in a whisper: 'Those rascals are up to no good;' and she
answered: 'One of them never was all his life.' So, then I said: 'You
get forward and scare the old sexton; I'll be close behind you.' The
old woman did it in a minute, walking on without any noise, till she
was right between him and the light, coming out of the vestry-door.
However, he had heard us whisper, I fancy; for he was staring about
him, as if he was looking for a ghost; and, as soon as he saw
something stand there, off he set, as if the devil were behind him;
and I jumped into the vestry, where the other fellow was sitting with
one of the great books open before him, and a pen in his hand. I did
not give him much time to think, but knocked him over, upset the
lantern, and locked the door. So there he is in a cage, just like one
of my ferrets."
"That's capital," cried Ned Hayward; but Beauchamp looked very grave,
and, turning to Gimlet, he said,
"We'll consider what is to be done with him by and by. You can bring
your good mother-in-law back now, Stephen; for our business is nearly
over, and then you can see these two ladies safe to the carriage. Miss
Slingsby," he continued, as soon as the gamekeeper was gone, "I wish
to speak two words with you regarding this little note," and he held
one up before her. "I took advantage of the pen and ink before I
brought it down, and so kept you waiting, I'm afraid; but it was not
without a purpose."
Isabella hesitated for a moment; but Beauchamp added, laughing,
"Nay, surely, you will trust yourself with me as far as the door."
"Oh, yes," replied Isabella, with a gay toss of her head; "I am doing
all kinds of odd things to-night, and see no reason for stopping in
mid course."
Thus saying, she walked towards the door, with Beauchamp following;
and they went out into the little garden, where Beauchamp put the note
in her hand, saying,
"This is addressed to Dr. Miles, my dear young lady. We are not very
well aware of what has taken place regarding this mortgage, which
Hayward has mentioned to me; but I fear there is some foul play going
on. Should any sudden inconvenience arise regarding it, or the
interest upon it, send that note instantly to Dr. Miles, and, at the
same time, take means to let me know."
"But how, my kind friend?" asked Isabella, "how can I let you know,
without discovering your place of concealment to others? You are
doubtless, aware, that there are placards all over the place offering
a reward for the apprehension of yourself and Captain Hayward."
"We must not mind that," answered Beauchamp; "but, at all events, it
may be as well to send a note to me, enclosed to good old Widow Lamb;
and I must take my measures afterwards, as I find best. In the mean
time, Dr. Miles will insure that your father is put to no
inconvenience; for it so luckily happens, that I have a large sum
unemployed at the present moment, which could not be better applied,
than by saving you from distress and annoyance."
"Oh, Mr. Beauchamp," cried Isabella, greatly moved, "what right have I
to so much kindness and generosity?"
"Every right, that a fine and noble heart can give," answered
Beauchamp; "and, oh, let me add, every right, that can be bestowed by
the most sincere affection, that ever woman inspired in man--but I
will not agitate you more to-night. This is not a moment, when I can
press such a topic upon you. There is only one thing you must promise,
that you will suffer no consideration whatever to prevent you from
availing yourself of the means of freeing your father from his
difficulties--no, not even the rash words I have just spoken."
Isabella was silent for a moment; but then she replied, in a low
voice,
"Those words would have quite the contrary effect. They would give me
confidence and hope;" and she put her hand in his.
Beauchamp raised it to his lips warmly, fully understanding all that
her reply implied.
The devil is in a country apothecary. There is an awkward fatality
about them which always brings them on the ground at the wrong moment.
"Good night, good night, Mr. Beauchamp," said Mr. Slattery of
Tarningham, slowly walking his horse down the sandy lane. "I thought I
would just step in to see Captain Hayward, and tell you that Harry
Wittingham is much better to-night," and Mr. Slattery, was dismounting
from his horse, not in the slightest degree with the intention of
seeing whose hand Mr. Beauchamp had been kissing, but merely in the
exercise of his professional avocations. As misfortune would have it,
Beauchamp had left the cottage-door open behind him, so that the
surgeon had a fair view of the act by which that gentleman had sealed
his tacit contract with Isabella, by the light which streamed forth
from within. But that which was unfortunate on one side, was fortunate
on another; for no sooner was the first monosyllable out of Mr.
Slattery's mouth, than Isabella darted in and closed the door, so that
the surgeon, though he thought the figure strangely like Sir John's
daughter, could not swear to the fact.
Beauchamp at the same time hastened to prevent his obtaining any more
precise knowledge, saying. "Thank you for your information, Mr.
Slattery. Hayward is better, and cannot see you to-night, being
particularly engaged at present. Good night;" and he also retired into
the house and shut the door.
"Ho, ho!" said Mr. Slattery, "so they do not choose me to see! Well,
let them take the consequences. When people trust me, I can be as
silent as the grave; but if they show a want of confidence, I know how
to match them. Did I whisper one word to any one of where the two
gentlemen were? No, not a word! and now they think to blind me. Well,
well, we shall see."
And Mr. Slattery did see, for while this soliloquy had been going on,
he had been going on too, and when it came to a conclusion, he came
upon the lamps of the large comfortable barouche of Sir John Slingsby.
"Good evening, Jenkins," said Mr. Slattery to the tall fat coachman,
"is Sir John in this part, that you are out so late?"
"No, Sir," replied Jenkins, "he's got the charitt over at Meadowfield.
I brought over my young lady to see Widow Lamb, at Gimlet's, the new
keeper's.
"Ho, ho," said Mr. Slattery again, but he had not time to make
reflections, for at the very moment, he heard a pair of human feet
running hard, and the next instant a figure shot across the glare of
the carriage-lamps. Mr. Slattery had a quick eye, and he instantly
called after the runner, "Hie! hie! captain, I want to speak with
you."
But the person whom he addressed ran on; and as Mr. Slattery did not
choose to be so evaded, he struck his plated spurs into his horse's
side, and overtook him at the distance of a quarter of a mile; for
once past the style where the carriage stood, there was no possible
means of getting out of the high-banked lane.
"Hie, captain! Captain Moreton!" cried Mr. Slattery, as he came near;
and Moreton not at all liking to have his name shouted all over the
country, slackened his pace.
"What the devil do you want, Slattery?" he asked, "do you not see I'm
in a hurry?"
"There's my little account, you know, captain," said Mr. Slattery,
"four years' standing, and you'd really oblige me very much if--"
"Devil fly away with your account," said the worthy captain,
"do you think I'm going to pay for all the physic you drugged the
maid-servants with at the hall?"
"Have you heard the news, captain?" exclaimed Mr. Slattery, coming
abruptly to the real point, as he perceived the other was going to run
again.
"No, what news?" asked Moreton, pausing.
"Why that Miss Slingsby is going to be married immediately to Mr.
Beauchamp, who has been staying down here so long," answered Mr.
Slattery; and then added, "as soon as young Wittingham's out of all
danger, they say."
"Is she, by G--d!" exclaimed the captain. "Well, doctor, I shall take
the short cut through that gate--good night; and do not say to any one
you saw me here. I know you can be trusted with a secret."
"To be sure!" said Mr. Slattery; and while Captain Moreton vaulted
over the gate, the surgeon pursued his way towards Tarningham.