Gilbert, who had been looking after the luggage, and settling the postboy's fee, soon came up, and, kneeling down by the chair, took both mother and baby in a loving embrace.
"My two Joys," he said; "my two best Joys. I am afraid you have been a good deal frightened, my darling; but cheer up now; the danger, if there was any, is over, thank God!"
"Gilbert, it was not the crowd, it was not the fear about the poor people who stopped the carriage, it was that amongst those dreadful faces I saw Bob Priday's, the man who stopped us on Mendip years ago, and who, as we think, killed dear father. Oh, it was the sight of his face which was too much for me! And poor Susan saw him also. It brought it all back. Father! father!"
Gilbert stroked his wife's head tenderly as it lay upon his shoulder, and said:
"Are you sure it was Bob Priday? So many years have passed."
"Quite, quite sure. And, though I have not spoken to Susan yet, I know she is sure also."
"You did not tell your mother, then, or Piers?"
"No, no; I would not have given mother the pain I felt, for anything. Dear mother! I let her drive off with scarcely a good-bye, and she has been so kind at Fair Acres, and has enjoyed the children in the old house. But, oh! Gilbert," she said, rallying, "it is so delightful to be at home with you again. While we have each other nothing can be very bad, can it?"
"Nothing," he said, fervently. "And now, while you are resting, I must go down to the office, for my partner is at the meeting at the "White Lion," helping to bolster up poor Hart-Davies to fight the Tories' battle. He is a good fellow, and everybody respects him; but the truth is, the tide is too strong in Bristol now for any but some very exceptional man to battle against it."
"You think the Whigs will carry the election?"