“Drink it, Miss Summerson, it’ll do you good. You’re beginning to get more yourself now, ain’t you?”
I thanked him and said I hoped so.
“You was what you may call stunned at first,” he returned; “and Lord, no wonder! Don’t speak loud, my dear. It’s all right. She’s on ahead.”
I don’t know what joyful exclamation I made or was going to make, but he put up his finger and I stopped myself.
“Passed through here on foot this evening about eight or nine. I heard of her first at the archway toll, over at Highgate, but couldn’t make quite sure. Traced her all along, on and off. Picked her up at one place, and dropped her at another; but she’s before us now, safe. Take hold of this cup and saucer, ostler. Now, if you wasn’t brought up to the butter trade, look out and see if you can catch half a crown in your t’other hand. One, two, three, and there you are! Now, my lad, try a gallop!”
We were soon in Saint Albans and alighted a little before day, when I was just beginning to arrange and comprehend the occurrences of the night and really to believe that they were not a dream. Leaving the carriage at the posting-house and ordering fresh horses to be ready, my companion gave me his arm, and we went towards home.
“As this is your regular abode, Miss Summerson, you see,” he observed, “I should like to know whether you’ve been asked for by any stranger answering the description, or whether Mr. Jarndyce has. I don’t much expect it, but it might be.”
As we ascended the hill, he looked about him with a sharp eye—the day was now breaking—and reminded me that I had come down it one night, as I had reason for remembering, with my little servant and poor Jo, whom he called Toughey.
I wondered how he knew that.
“When you passed a man upon the road, just yonder, you know,” said Mr. Bucket.