In this way, the valiant Mole drove the miserable wretch to the villa.
When, after a long and wearisome journey, they got within a stone's throw of the grounds of the house, Mr. Mole was suddenly startled to hear a loud, shrill cry of alarm, and who should appear before them but Mrs. Mole herself?
"Whateber hab you there, Ikey?" she demanded.
"A prisoner, my dear," responded Mole.
"A what?" she exclaimed; "whose prisoner?"
"Mine."
"Yourn?"
"Pardon me, my dear—yours, not yourn. Yes, my prisoner," he added modestly; "I have captured him."
"Where?"
"In the wood."