During these days Peter Waghorn had in deep depression brooded over the utter defeat of his schemes. His fruitless search for Gabriel in Malvern had not improved his temper, and on going next day to Canon Frome Manor to interview Norton he learnt to his dismay that the Governor had been carried home from Bosbury desperately wounded and was raving in delirium. Nobody knew how he had met with his wound, but Farmer Chadd had found him lying unconscious in his orchard, and it was conjectured that the mishap must have occurred while he was seeking to arrest some of Massey’s men in their flight.
Waghorn kept his thoughts to himself and trudged back to Bosbury, guessing shrewdly that Captain Harford had all the time been within earshot, and, in spite of his wound, had managed to fight his rival. Had he encountered Hilary he would probably have asked her some direct question, but the villagers reported that she was ill and obliged to keep the house, a rumour which was confirmed by her non-appearance at church on the following Sunday.
On the Thursday a soldier rode up to the wood-carver’s house, and Waghorn, in some trepidation, went out to him.
“The Governor bids you come with all speed to him at Canon Frome Manor to report on some work undertaken for him,” said the messenger, looking with some curiosity at the austere Puritan.
“Good; I will come anon,” said Waghorn. “Doth the Colonel recover him of his wound?”
“Ay, ’tis healing, and his head is clear, but I counsel you to come with all speed, for he’s in a devilish ill-humour, and to be kept waiting is what he can’t abide.”
Waghorn laid aside his work, and in very low spirits tramped over to Canon Frome. To do him justice, he was ill at ease, and detested his alliance with an officer of Norton’s type. It might be permissible to use the ungodly as tools, but as he recalled Hilary’s appeal to him in the orchard, and reflected that he had left her wholly at the mercy of the Colonel, his conscience pricked him. He had, as a matter of fact, forgotten everything in the burning desire to prevent Gabriel Harford’s escape.
Evidently the soldier had drawn a truthful picture of Norton’s state, for, as the wood-carver was ushered into his room, he peremptorily ordered his servant to quit him, and beckoning Waghorn to come near to the bed, looked up at him with an angry scowl.
“Well, scarecrow! What news do you bring?”