At this moment the library door was thrown violently open, and old Peter Barnett, his face bleeding and discoloured, as if from fighting, and his clothes torn and muddy, rushed into the centre of the apartment.
CHAPTER LV — THE PURSUIT
“Let not search and inquisition fail to bring
again those... runaways.”
—As You Like It.
“Fetch me that handkerchief,
My mind misgives.”
—Othello.
“Sharp goads the spur, and heavy falls the stroke,
Rattle the wheels, the reeking horses smoke.”
—The Elopement.
ON the sudden appearance of old Peter in the deplorable condition described in the last chapter, we all sprang to our feet, eager to learn the cause of what we beheld. We were not long kept in suspense, for as soon as he could recover breath enough to speak, he turned to Mr. Vernor, saying, in a voice hoarse with sorrow and indignation:—“If you knows anything of this here wickedness, as I half suspects you do, servant as I am, I tells you to your face, you're a willain, and I could find in my heart to serve you as your precious nephew (as you calls him) and his hired bullies have served me”.
“How dare you use such language to me?” was the angry reply. “You have been drinking, sirrah; leave the room instantly.”
“Tell me, Peter,” exclaimed I, unable longer to restrain myself, “what has happened? Your mistress—Clara—is she safe?”
“That's more than I knows,” was the reply; “if she is now, she won't be soon, without we moves pretty sharp; for she's in precious unsafe company. While we was a-looking after one thief, we've been robbed by t'other: we was watching Muster Wilford, and that young scoundrel Cumberland has cut in and bolted with Miss Clara!”