But with a wild cry of despair Hilary rushed forward “Oh! no! no!” and she threw her arms round Gabriel. “You shall not take him! You shall not!”
The soldiers were touched by her anguish, the villagers made indignant murmurings, some of the women began to sob. As for Waghorn, he turned away, muttering: “Alack, poor lady! But nay, let me not falter! No weakness, Peter Waghorn! No weakness!”
Gabriel kissed the weeping girl with passionate tenderness; then, unable to endure the sight of her grief, began to crave only for an end of this torture.
“Go, my dearest!” he said, his voice faltering. “I pray you—go!”
But the Vicar stepped towards Norton.
“Sir,” he said, “I appeal to your better nature. As prisoner of war you have it in your power to send Captain Harford to gaol, but——”
“Why, that would be to make him your companion, dear sir,” said Norton, lightly. “No, no; I have quite other plans. You go to prison, he goes to Paradise. Come, you, as a parson, must own that I am giving him promotion.”
Waghorn meanwhile paced to and fro wrestling with himself, and muttering like a madman through his teeth: “Nay, nay; I will not relent. The enemies of truth must be punished. Let their habitation be desolate, and let none dwell in their tents! Add iniquity unto their iniquity.”
He was suddenly jostled aside by old Zachary, who, in deep distress, approached the Colonel.
“For pity’s sake, sir, hang me instead,” he pleaded, “’twas my silly old tongue betrayed him—that and the fourth tankard of cider—hang me instead, for I deserve it.”