“Betty, Betty,” he thought, “are you safe, my dear?”—and at the fear the word evoked his breath caught in something like a sob.
The fury of the fire was over when they came upon the scene and stopped before the ravaged and gutted carcass of the once picturesque inn. But still the blackened walls blossomed with little spits and fronds of flame; and scarlet lines drawn upon the heavy curtains of smoke showed where smouldering beams clung tenacious of their hold.
The road was full of a drifting and pungent fog, and therein the whole village was alive, scurrying hither and thither in excitement like a colony of ants whose nest had been overturned.
On the outskirts of this press the two men, dismounted, were standing holding their horses, when a country youth, his red face all blubbered with tears and dust, came hurriedly up to them and seized Tuke by the sleeve.
“Master—Master Took!” he exclaimed in a broken voice.
“Jim!—Good God, man! how did this come about?”
“By foul play, your honour; and may the living hell be their portion that done it!”
“Steady, man!”
“I’ll ha’ justice o’ them—I’ll ha’ justice o’ them, by the Lord! Look at it! look here! Missy Pollack’s home—her that never done a hard thing by a soul, and treated poor Jim like a man. Drove a pauper at a blow, and her grandfather all burnt and choked and she cluckin’ to him like a hen that’s laid.”
“Where is she? Take me to her.”