THE sight which met my eyes as I gazed around was one which time can never efface from my memory. In the centre of the room, his brow darkened by the flush of concentrated indignation, stood Oaklands, his left hand clenching tightly the coat-collar of a man whom I at once perceived to be Wilford, while with his right hand he was administering such a horse-whipping as I hope never again to see a human being subjected to. Wilford, who actually writhed with mingled pain and fury, was making violent but ineffectual struggles to free himself. Near the door stood Wentworth, the blood dropping from his nose, and his clothes dusty and disordered, as if from a fall. Crouching in a corner at the farther end of the room, the tears coursing down her fear-blanched cheeks, and her hands clasped in an agony of terror and despair, was a girl, about nineteen years of age, whom I had little difficulty in recognising as Lizzie Maurice, the daughter of the old confectioner, of whose elopement we had been that morning informed. On perceiving me she sprang forward, and clasping my knees implored me to interfere and endeavour to separate them. I was not, however, called upon to do so, for, as she spoke, his riding-whip broke short in Oaklands' hand, and dashing down the fragments with an exclamation of impatience, he flung Wilford from him with so much force that he staggered forward a few paces, and would have fallen had not Wentworth caught him in his arms, just in time to prevent it.
Oaklands then turned to the girl, whom I had raised from the ground and placed on a chair, and addressing her in a stern impressive manner, said: “I will now resume what I was saying to you when yonder beaten hound dared to lay hands upon me. For the last time the choice is offered to you—either return home, and endeavour, by devoting yourself to your broken-hearted old father, to atone as best you may for the misery you have caused him; or, by remaining here, commence a life of infamy which will end sooner or later in a miserable death.” He paused; then, as she made no reply, but sat with her face buried in her hands, sobbing as if her heart would break, he continued, “You tell me, the vile tempter who has lured you from your duty promised to meet you here to-day, and, bringing a clergyman with him, to marry you privately; now if this is the truth——”
“It is, it is,” she faltered.
“If so,” resumed Oaklands, “a knowledge of the real facts of the case may yet save you. This scoundrel who has promised to marry you, and who belongs to a rank immeasurably above your own, is already notorious for what are termed, by such as himself, affairs of gallantry; while the wretched impostor whom he has brought with him to act the part of clergyman is the marker at a low billiard-table, and no more a clergyman than I am.”
“Is this really so?” exclaimed the girl, raising her eyes, which were swollen and red with weeping, to Wilford's face; “would you have deceived me thus, Stephen—you, whom I have trusted so implicitly?”
Wilford, who, since the severe discipline he had undergone, had remained seated, with his head resting on his hand, as if in pain, apparently unconscious of what was going on, glared at her ferociously with his flashing eyes, but made no reply. The girl waited for a minute; but, obtaining no answer, turned away with a half shudder, murmuring, “Deceived, deceived!” Then addressing Oaklands, she said, “I will go home to my father, sir; and if he will not forgive me, I can but lie down and die at his feet—better so than live on, to trust, and be deceived again”.
“You have decided rightly, and will not repent it,” remarked Oaklands in a milder tone of voice; then, turning to the blacksmith (who had made his appearance, accompanied by his wife, the moment the affray had ended), he continued: “you must procure some conveyance immediately to take this young person back to Cambridge, and your wife must accompany her”. Observing that the man hesitated, and cast an inquiring glance towards Wilford, he added sternly, “If you would not be compelled to answer for the share you have taken in this rascally business before the proper authorities, do as I have told you without loss of time”.
The man having again failed in an attempt to attract Wilford's attention, asked in a surly tone, “Whether a spring-cart would do?” and, being answered in the affirmative, left the room.