CHAPTER XXVIII.
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.