A low moan proceeded from all present, and they stood petrified with astonishment.
“The saddle be wet!” cried one.
“Ah! surely, that it be—wet wi’ blood!” exclaimed another. “There’s been foul play with our young master.”
While all this had been going on, the elder Mr. Jamblin, who had been playing cards at a neighbour’s house, had been suddenly aroused to a sense of danger; he soon hastened homewards, and upon catching sight of his men around the house, he exclaimed, in a tone of indignation—
“What be all on ’ee doin’ there? Aint one man enough to attend to a horse? Do it take five to stable a steed? Speak, some on ’ee. You’ve got tongues in yer heads, I s’pose?”
But none of his men seemed disposed to speak. No one appeared to have the courage to declare the real state of the case.
Puffing and panting Mr. Jamblin hastened up to the riderless steed.
“Where be Mr. Philip?” he cried.
“He aint coom back as yet, zur,” said the stableman.
“Then where be he?” was the next question.