“Distraction!” exclaimed I, nearly maddened by the intelligence; “which road have they taken? how long have they been gone?”
“Not ten minutes,” was the reply; “for as soon as ever they had knocked me down, they forced her into the carriage, and was off like lightning; and I jumped up, and ran here as hard as legs would carry me.”
“Then they may yet be overtaken,” cried I, seizing my hat; “but are you sure Wilford has nothing to do with it?”
“Quite certain,” was the answer; “for I met him a-going a-shooting as I cum in, and he stopped me to know what was the matter: and when I told him, he seemed quite flustered like, and swore he'd make Cumberland repent it.”
“Mad, infatuated boy!” exclaimed Mr. Vernor; “bent on his own ruin.” And burying his face in his hands, he sank into a chair, apparently insensible to everything that was passing.
“Now, Peter,” I continued, “every moment is of importance; tell me which road to take, and then get me the best horse in the stable, without a moment's delay. I will bear you harmless.”
“I've thought of all that, sir,” rejoined Peter Barnett. “It's no use your going alone; there's three of them besides the postboys. No! you must take me with you; and they've knocked me about so, that I don't think I could sit a horse, leastways not to go along as we must go, if we means to catch 'em. No! I've ordered fresh horses to your carriage, it's lighter than the one they have got, and that will tell in a long chase; you must take me to show you the way, Muster Fairlegh.”
“Well, come along, then. Mr. Frampton, I'll bring you your niece in safety, or this is the last time we shall meet, for I never will return without her.”
“Umph! eh? I'll go with you, Frank; I'll go with you.”
“I would advise you not, sir,” replied I; “it will be a fatiguing, if not a dangerous expedition.”