“There it is agen!” interrupted Joe; “by ——— it’s in t’horsebox,” he continued, listening attentively. “Them ————— thieves can’t be come a’ready, sure!” And heedless of Mary’s assurances that it was nothing, and her entreaties to remain only one moment longer, the groom, now thoroughly excited, leaped down from the window and rushed back into the stable.
With the speed of thought the girl sprang to the door at which she had previously tapped, and stooping her head to the key-hole, listened eagerly. The first thing that met her ear was a volley of abuse from Joe, accompanied by heavy blows struck against wood or iron; then a noise as of a door being burst open; next, broken curses, dull, muffled strokes, ejaculations of rage or pain, the sound of trampling feet, a crushing, heavy fall, and then total silence!
What had happened? She placed her eye to the key-hole, but could see nothing. She listened—but the throbbing of her own heart was the only thing she could hear: for the first time the fearful idea occurred to her, that by her treacherous dealing she might have occasioned her lover’s death; and regardless of consequences, she was about to start up and summon assistance, when a man’s hand was laid on her shoulder, and a gruff voice exclaimed—
“So this is the way my grooms are tampered with! I was sure I heard talking going on. Hold up your head, you jade, and let us see what you’re like; nay, it’s no use to struggle, I’ve got you fast enough, and see who it is I will.”
So saying, Mr. Slangsby the trainer drew the girl towards him, and forcibly raising her head, threw the light of a bull’s-eye lantern full on her features. “Ha! little Mary Williams,” he continued, “and what brings you here at this time of night, you artful hussy?”
“Oh! Mr. Slangsby, pray open the door, sir; I—I’m afraid they’ve been and murdered poor Joe,” was the reply, and overcome by fear and remorse, the girl burst into tears—real ones, this time.
“They, and who are they, pray? There’s some rascality going on here, I expect; it’s lucky I got up.” As he spoke, Slangsby drew a key from his pocket, opened the door, and still retaining his grasp on the girl’s wrist, entered. The first object which met their sight was Joe, by no means murdered, although he bore evidences of a severe struggle in a black eye and bleeding knuckles.
“T’horse is all right, meister, but I wor only jest in time, though!” was his opening speech.
“In time for what?” inquired Slangsby eagerly.
“In time to stop yon villain from pizonin the blessed hanimal,” returned Joe, pointing to something which at first sight appeared to be a large bundle, but which proved on examination to be a human being most ingeniously tied hand and foot with haybands.