"So you've got them at last, Gordon," he said.
"Indeed, I have, mister," the negro said, "and a nice dance they've led me. I never expected to see Castlebridge before morning. What shall I do with them, sir?"
"Tie them up behind and let them run," the man in the cart said brutally. "A gentle trot won't do them any harm. You can ride yourself. Now then, hurry up!"
A moment later and the strangely assorted group were out of sight, and Wilfrid was trudging homewards. He was too tired and worn out to think of much else beside bed and rest, and for once in a way a busy morning followed. It was late in the afternoon before he found time to go to Maldon Grange again, and then he was informed that Mr. Flower had left for London on important business, which would probably detain him in town till the end of the week. He hesitated before inquiring for Miss Galloway, but she, too, had accompanied her uncle, and the butler had not the least idea when she would be home again. It was disappointing, but Wilfrid had to make the best of it.
There was, too, a sense of dulness and reaction after the bustle and excitement of the last four-and-twenty hours. It was hard to drop back into the humdrum life of Oldborough, and as Wilfrid went about his work he found himself regretting that he had abandoned the old adventurous existence for the stale commonplaces of respectability. Then he had no cares and worries. Now every post began to bring them along. Certain of the local tradesmen were beginning to press him, and he dared not as yet ask for any money from such patients as had required his services. There was quite a little pile of these missives as he came in tired and weary to his frugal dinner. He tossed them aside impatiently.
"I think I'll wait till I have had something to eat, mother," he said. "I know what they are."
Mrs. Mercer glanced affectionately at her son. Generally he treated these things lightly enough, and took a cheerful view of the future. But to-night everything seemed to oppress and weigh him down. He had no desire his mother should see how he was feeling the strain. It was not till he had finished his dinner and could make a decent excuse to get away to the surgery that he opened his letters. They were just as he had expected. Nearly every one of them contained a request for money, from a polite suggestion to a curt threat of legal proceedings. But these were small matters compared with the last letter which bore the London postmark. It was short and business-like and, though courteous, there was no mistaking its meaning.
"DEAR SIR (it ran),—We have this day taken over from Messrs. Darton and Co. certain securities and bills upon which they have advanced money to various persons, yourself amongst the number. We notice that an acceptance of yours for £175 becomes due on Saturday. As the circumstances of the case call for a clearance of these outstanding matters, we have to request that your cheque for the above amount be paid to us on Saturday morning, otherwise we shall with great regret have to place it in other hands for collection. At the present moment we have no funds available to renew your acceptance.
"Yours obediently,
"FOWLER & Co."