“I am glad to hear you say that, Tom Wheeler. There, read that. Your client deserves to be flogged out of the county, sir.” And he pulled a printed paper out of his pocket. It was dated from the Royal Hotel, Bath, and had been printed with blanks, as follows; but a lady's hand had filled in the dates.
“On the day —— of ——, while I was walking alone in my garden, Mr. Richard Bassett, the person who has bereaved me by violence of my protector, came, without leave, into my private grounds, and brought a very large dog; it ran to me, and frightened me so that I nearly fainted with alarm. Mr. Bassett was aware of my condition. Next day I consulted my husband, and he ordered me to leave Huntercombe Hall, and put myself beyond the reach of trespassers and outrage.
“One motive has governed Mr. Bassett in all his acts, from his anonymous letter to me before my marriage—which I keep for your inspection, together with the proofs that he wrote it—to the barbarous seizure of my husband upon certificates purchased beforehand, and this last act of violence, which has driven me from the county for a time.
“Sir Charles and I have often been your hosts and your guests; we now ask you to watch our property and our legal rights, so long as through injustice and cruelty my husband is a prisoner, his wife a fugitive.”
“There,” said the gentleman, “these papers are going all round the county.”
Wheeler was most indignant, and said he had never been consulted, and had never advised a trespass. He begged a loan of the paper, and took it to Bassett's that very same afternoon.
“So you have been acting without advice,” said he, angrily; “and a fine mess you have made of it.” And, though not much given to violent anger, he dashed the paper down on the table, and hurt his hand a little. Anger must be paid for, like other luxuries.
Bassett read it, and was staggered a moment; but he soon recovered himself, and said, “What is the foolish woman talking about?”
He then took a sheet of paper, and said he would soon give her a Roland for an Oliver.
“Ay,” said Wheeler, grimly, “let us see how you will put down the foolish woman. I'll smoke a cigar in the garden, and recover my temper.”