"And don't Miss Minnie suspect, think ye?"
"Not she, nor nobody; it's all been done main clever, I can tell you; and as the shay drives round to the front door, Master and Mr. Dalby goes up and brings her down, and we postesses two posts, that there mayn't be no row in this part, 'cause she might kick up a to-do at the station, and Mr. Dalby goes part ways on the dicky with me!"
"Does he?" said Sally, colouring at this treachery. "He's quite given up young Miss himself, then?"
"Oh, yes! from all I hears, and I'm pretty 'cute, he and the squire be all in all; it's to Miss Burton's young miss be goin'." This latter speech was uttered in a whisper.
"Ah!" ejaculated Sally, in thought.
"What be 'e thinkin' on?" asked Thomas, pressing the arm which reposed on his own. "I guess you be thinkin' there won't be all this fuss when we marries," etc., etc., etc. Here the amorous swain rushed off into a maze of love's intricacies, little interesting to the reader, or indeed to Sally, who took the earliest opportunity of finding the silken cord, and getting out of it, leaving the cautious Thomas watching, in the twilight, her buxom figure as she sped homewards. Red and excited she entered the farm kitchen, and, flying up the stairs, tapped at a door, and then bounced in. Tremenhere sat there, and not less than her own, was his agitation, when she unloaded her budget; he thanked his faithful messenger for her vigilance, and after a consultation with the homely farmer, who was summoned to the room, this latter started off for Harrogate, to discover if really the chaise had been ordered, as reported. With some little manœuvring he found out, beyond a doubt, that it was a fact. What he then did—what they had mutually decided upon—will be shortly seen. To have carried off Minnie at that late hour would have been impracticable—How succeed? this was their first thought, but no posters could be obtained as relays; there would be no train to assist them so advanced in the night, for he could not see Minnie to convey the intelligence until nearly midnight. To fly, and be overtaken, were worse than all. Poor Miles paced his room in an agony of mind nothing can paint; until that supreme moment he did not know how dear Minnie was, all his energy seemed for a while crushed; he clenched his hands, and the thick, knotted veins swelled in his forehead, as the heaving breast sent the boiling blood to his brain. He cursed his own folly, his scruples for waiting so long, now all these had disappeared; present fears, future reflections on imprudence, all were cast aside: he only saw Minnie separated from himself, in Marmaduke's and her uncle's power, with Dalby to back them in villainy. He cared for nothing which might be said, he forgot all his mother's wrongs, from perhaps a want of strict prudence, (of error he never dreamed,) which had so long upheld him in a resolution to only win his wife before all the world, and by all its most rigid laws of prudence and right. He sat down at last, with his watch clutched in his hand, counting the weary moments till he could visit Gatestone. A cold sweat hung on his brow, as he thought some unforeseen event, impossible to conquer, might mar all, and thus he sat, in the bitter agony of a lone heart, which, though it may find kind, sympathizing friends, finds not one to comprehend all its suffering—not one to speak as it would. As the weary hours crept by, he was worn almost to woman's weakness; for at a moment when he needed all to support himself in calmness, Farmer Weld, or perhaps Sally, would enter his room, or the farmer's good dame, and by their well-meant, but quiet reasoning, nearly drive his warm temperament frantic; it was not only one fear he had, but dozens came crowding around him, for all was cast on one chance. He could not say—"If this fail—well, to-morrow."
No, there was no morrow for him if the project crumbled to earth. She would be away under coercion and watchings, and these doubled, if they discovered any attempt of his, even though it should prove abortive. In this fearful state, he at last quitted the farm. The night air revived him, and he felt calm as he stopped under Minnie's window; more especially when her little white hand drew aside the curtain, and she looked forth.
CHAPTER XVII.
The night passed—then succeeded morning—noon—and evening. Juvenal had been very busy all day. Nobody but Dalby, who was closeted with him, and the trusty Thomas, knew wherefore. The two first worthies had it all to themselves; for Sylvia felt piqued with her recreant protégé for preferring interest to love. Dorcas disliked him much. It therefore was not a very sociable dinner party that day at six, when the four sat down together. We will leave them in their monosyllabic conversation, spiced with occasional words of secret meaning between Juvenal and his guest, and go up-stairs with Mrs. Gillett, to Minnie's room, when she entered with the prisoner's dinner. The latter was sitting at a table; before her was a casket, out of which all the little treasures of her young life were taken, and spread on the table, and as she eyed them, her eyes were swimming in tears; yet she looked flushed, and nervous. When Gillett entered, she involuntarily sprang up, and turned pale, as in terror.