At the first sound of his moving, Sir David came to his bedside, and looked down upon him with a comical air of chagrin.
“Good and satisfactory,” said the baronet; “and now, sir, we need your counsels to rid some innocent people of a very blackguard incubus.”
“Heaven bless them! But one word first—Darda?”
“Trust the jade! She was brought in by her brother not ten minutes after you arrived.”
“Thank God for that! How——?”
“Why, it seems she made a hole in the floor of the attic where she was held, dropped down into the very room you had quitted, and took advantage of the window you had left open. That other’s a rare wench of yours, Tuke.”
“Aye, aye.”
“You turn their heads, sir; and damme if your virtues compare with mine. Why, the mad girl, it appears, gave herself to the rogues on the chance of helping you, and was right savage when she found she had been forestalled. Burn me if I can see so much in you! She would ha’ been on your tracks sooner, but that she must stop to collect a bag-full of her mummies and things; and there she was makin’ for the tunnel as cool as a gipsy, when Whimple sighted her.”
“Well, what is toward this morning?”
“Not a sign. The rascals are well served, believe me, and cuttin’ one another’s throats by now.”