“Or an archbishopric or two?” said Julius. “The pony can do it, I think, as there will be a long rest. If he seems fagged, I can put up at Backsworth and take a fly.”
“You’ll let James drive you,” said Rosamond.
“I had rather not,” said Julius. “It may be better to be alone.”
“He is afraid of betraying his elevation to James,” laughed Rosamond.
“Mrs. Daniel Reynolds to see you, sir.”
This was with the information that that there trapezing chap, Drake, had fetched off poor Fanny in his van. He had been in trouble himself, having been in custody for some misdemeanour when she was thrown down; but as soon as he was released, he had come in search of her, and though at first he seemed willing to leave her to be nursed at home, he had no sooner heard of the visitors of that morning than he had sworn he would have no parson meddling with his poor gal! she was good enough for him, and he would not have a pack of nonsense put in her head to set her against him.
“He’s good to her, sir,” said Mrs. Reynolds, “I think he be; but he is a very ignorant man. He tell’d us once as he was born in one of they vans, and hadn’t never been to school nor nothin’, nor heard tell of God, save in the way of bad words: he’ve done nothin’ but go from one races and fairs to another, just like the gipsies, though he bain’t a gipsy neither; but he’s right down attacted to poor Fanny, and good to her.”
“Another product of the system,” said Raymond.
“Like the gleeman, whom we see through a picturesque medium,” said Julius; “but who could not have been pleasant to the mediæval clergyman. I have hopes of poor Fanny yet. She will drift home one of these days, and we shall get hold of her.”
“What a fellow you are for hoping!” returned Raymond, a little impatiently.