So saying, I gave him the wished-for sixpence, and with a grin of satisfaction he departed.
With leaden feet the hours crawled along, and still old Peter Barnett did not make his appearance; when, about twelve o'clock, a horseman passed by, followed by a groom. As he rode at a very quiet pace, his face was easily recognised, and I saw at a glance it was Mr. Vernor. Fortunately he never looked towards the window at which I was standing, or he must have seen me. Scarcely ten minutes had elapsed, when old Peter arrived, breathless from the speed at which he had come; his grotesque but expressive features gleaming with delight and sagacity, while his merry little eyes danced and twinkled as if they would jump out of their sockets. Reassured, in spite of myself, by his manner, I exclaimed, as I closed the parlour door behind him, “Well, Peter; speak out, man—what is it?”
“Oh! my breath!” was the reply, “running don't suit old legs like it does young uns. I say, sir, did ye see him go by?”
“I saw Mr. Vernor pass a few minutes since,” replied I.
“Ah! that's what I've been a-waiting for; we're safe from him for the next four hours: he didn't see you, did he?”
“No,” returned I, “he was fortunately looking another way.”
“Well, it's all right then, everything's all right; oh! lor, I'm so happy.”
“It's more than I am,” replied I angrily; for feeling convinced that nothing could have occurred materially to affect the position in which Clara and I stood towards each other, the old man's joy grated harshly on my gloomy state of mind, and I began to attribute his excessive hilarity to the influence of the ale-tap. “You will drive me frantic with your ridiculous and unseasonable mirth. If you have anything to communicate likely to relieve my sorrow and anxiety, in the name of common sense speak out, man.”
“I beg your pardon, sir; I was so happy myself, I was forgetting you: I've got so much to tell you, I don't know where to begin rightly; but, however, here goes—to the right-about face! March!” He then proceeded to give me, with much circumlocution, which I will mercifully spare the reader, the following account. After he had left me at the conclusion of our last interview, feeling, as he said, “more wretcheder” than he had ever done before, in going through the park, he observed two persons, a man and a woman, in close conversation; on his approach they separated, but not until he had been able to recognise Wilford, and one of the female servants, Clara's personal attendant. “This,” as he continued, “set him a-thinking,” and the result of his cogitations occasioned the mysterious hint thrown out to me in his note. On receiving my letter for Clara, he found an opportunity of delivering it in person, inquiring, when he did so, both when she had last heard from, and written to, me; at the same time informing her that he had a very particular reason for asking. He then learned what he had more than suspected from the interview he had witnessed in the park, namely, that since Wilford had been in the house, she had not only never received one of my letters, but had written to me more than once to ascertain the cause of such an unaccountable silence. These letters she had, as usual, given to her maid to convey to Peter Barnett; and the girl, cajoled and bribed by Wilford, had evidently given them to him instead. This induced Peter, as he expressed it, “to open his heart to his young mistress,” and with deep contrition he confessed to her the suspicions he had entertained of her fickleness, how he had communicated them to me, and how circumstances had forced me to believe them. Clara, naturally much distressed and annoyed by this information, blamed him for not having spoken to her sooner, assured him that he had wronged her deeply in imagining such things, and desired him somewhat haughtily to lose no time in undeceiving Mr. Fairlegh. He then inquired whether she wished to send any answer to my note; on which she read it through with a quivering lip, and replied, “Yes, tell him, that as he finds it so easy to believe evil of me, I agree with him that it will be better our acquaintance should terminate”. She then motioned to him to leave the room, and he was obliged to obey; but, glancing at her as he closed the door, he perceived that she had covered her face with her hands, and was weeping bitterly. He next set to work with the waiting-maid, and by dint of threats of taking her before Mr. Vernor, and promises, if she confessed all, that he would intercede with Clara for her forgiveness, he elicited from her the whole truth—namely, that by the joint influence of bribes and soft speeches, Wilford had induced her to hand over to him her mistress's letters, and that he had detained every one either to or from me. “Well, sir,” continued he, “that was not such a bad day's work altogether, but I ain't been idle since. Mr. Fleming, or Wilford, as you says he is, started off the first thing this morning for London, and ain't cumming back till the day after to-morrow; so, thinks I, we'll turn the tables upon you, my boy, for once—that ere letter dodge was very near a-ruining us, I wonder how it will hact the t'other way: and a lucky thought it was too, Muster Fairlegh, for sich a scheme of willainy as I've descivered all dewised against poor dear Miss Clara—”
“A scheme against Miss Saville!” exclaimed I; “what do you mean?”