Mr. Spencer was silent. He could not bear the thought of losing Sidney as an inmate of his cheerless home, a tender relic of his early love. From that moment he began to contemplate the possibility of securing Sidney to himself, unknown to Beaufort.
The plans both of Arthur and Spencer were interrupted by the sudden retreat of the brothers. They determined to depart different ways in search of them. Spencer, as the more helpless of the two, obtained the aid of Mr. Sharp; Beaufort departed with the lawyer.
Two travellers, in a hired barouche, were slowly dragged by a pair of jaded posters along the commons I have just described.
“I think,” said one, “that the storm is very much abated; heigho! what an unpleasant night!”
“Unkimmon ugly, sir,” answered the other; “and an awful long stage, eighteen miles. These here remote places are quite behind the age, sir—quite. However, I think we shall kitch them now.”
“I am very much afraid of that eldest boy, Sharp. He seems a dreadful vagabond.”
“You see, sir, quite hand in glove with Dashing Jerry; met in the same inn last night—preconcerted, you may be quite shure. It would be the best day’s job I have done this many a day to save that ‘ere little fellow from being corrupted. You sees he is just of a size to be useful to these bad karakters. If they took to burglary, he would be a treasure to them—slip him through a pane of glass like a ferret, sir.”
“Don’t talk of it, Sharp,” said Mr. Spencer, with a groan; “and recollect, if we get hold of him, that you are not to say a word to Mr. Beaufort.”
“I understand, sir; and I always goes with the gemman who behaves most like a gemman.”
Here a loud halloo was heard close by the horses’ heads. “Good Heavens, if that is a footpad!” said Mr. Spencer, shaking violently.