But this did not disarm her, at the time. Her raging voice and raging words were heard by the very servants, long after he had ceased to defend himself.
At last she came out, pale with fury, and finding Ryder near the door, shrieked out, "Take that reptile to his den, if he is mean enough to lie in this house:" then, lowering her voice, "and bring Thomas Leicester to me."
Ryder went to Leicester, and told him. But he objected to come. "You have betrayed me," said he. "Curse my weak heart, and my loose tongue. I have done the poor Squire an ill turn. I can never look him in the face again. But 'tis all thy fault, double-face. I hate the sight of thee."
At this Ryder shed some crocodile tears; and very soon, by her blandishments, obtained forgiveness.
And Leicester, since the mischief was done, was persuaded to see the Dame, who was his recent benefactor, you know. He bargained, however, that the Squire should be got to bed first, for he had a great dread of meeting him. "He'll break every bone in my skin," said Tom; "or else I shall do him a mischief in my defense."
Ryder herself saw the wisdom of this: she bade him stay quiet, and she went to look after Griffith.
She found him in the drawing-room, with his head on the table, in deep dejection.
She assumed authority, and said he must go to bed.
He rose humbly, and followed her like a submissive dog.
She took him to his room. There was no fire.