“I am sure we have not evidence enough to prove it,” replied I; “but I confess I am inclined, as a mere matter of opinion, to agree with you, though there are difficulties in the way for which it is not easy to account. For instance, why should Wilford have gone to that party last night and have incurred the risk of entrusting the execution of his schemes to another, instead of remaining to carry them out himself?”
“That is true,” said Oaklands thoughtfully, “I do not pretend to understand it all clearly; but, somehow, I feel a conviction that Wilford is at the bottom of it.”
“You should recollect, Harry, that you greatly dislike this man—are, as I conceive, prejudiced against him—and are therefore, of course, disposed to judge him harshly.”
“Yes I know all that; still you'll see it will come out, sooner or later, that Wilford is the man. Her poor old father! I have often observed how he appeared to doat upon that girl, and how proud he was of her: his pride will be converted into mourning now. It is fearful to think,” continued Oaklands, “of what crimes men are guilty in their reckless selfishness! Here is the fair promise of an innocent girl's life blighted, and an old man's grey hairs brought down with sorrow to the grave, in order to gratify the passing fancy of a heartless libertine.” He paused, and then continued, “I suppose one can do nothing in the matter, having no stronger grounds than mere suspicion to go upon?”
“I should say nothing likely to be of the slightest benefit,” replied I.
“Then the sooner we get to horse the better,” returned Oaklands; “hearing of a thing of this kind always annoys me, and I feel disposed to hate my species: a good gallop may shake me into a better humour.”
“And the dolce-far-niente?” I inquired.
“Oh! don't imagine me inconsistent,” was the reply. “Only somehow, just at present, in fact ever since the breeze last night, I've found it more trouble to remain quiet than to exert myself; so, if you would not tire me to death, walk a little faster, there's a good fellow.”
After a brisk ride of nearly two hours along cross-roads, we came out upon a wild heath or common of considerable extent.
“Here's a famous place for a gallop,” exclaimed Oaklands; “I never can make up my mind which is the fastest of these two horses; let's have a race and try their speed. Do you see that tall poplar tree which seems poking its top into the sky on the other side the common? that shall be the winning-post. Now, are you ready?”