“Two,” said Miss Angela.
“And here his confederates sought him out, murdered him yonder, and made fruitless search for what he had sacrificed his life to hold.”
“Three,” said Miss Angela, “and right worshipfully concluded.”
“Peace, you bantam! ’Tis but the introduction to the argument.”
“Oh! I crave your honour’s indulgence”—and she looked round merrily at Dennis, who stood respectfully to the back of her chair.
“Now we gather,” said Sir David, with importance, “that of the ancient gang, only Mr. Fern hath cheated the gallows, to return at this eleventh hour to the search; but that he hath confided his plot to two or more——”
“Lacking the greatness of the first rank of criminals,” put in Whimple impulsively—and so reddened to a fine after-glow of shame immediately he had spoken.
They all laughed; and quoth Miss Angel:
“How I love your inconsequence, Mr. Dennis. I think that sympathy with giant wickedness a very admirable foil to your humanity.”
She had taken a great interest in the servant since her mediation had procured him justice. What if he had been a figure familiar to her experience for years past? Only recent circumstance had presented him in the light that could appeal to her effectively—the melancholy twilight, in fact, of romance. Now she was bethinking herself how this mystic hermit of the thickets had lived out his twenty years or so of haunted solitude that he might at the end serve her sensibilities with a little passing thrill of excitement; and she felt grateful to him and very considerate of his hectic cheeks.