"Have you got the letters and newspapers, Benini?" asked Sir William.
"No, Sir," replied the man.
Sir William gave him a fierce oath, and a bad name, and asked him why the devil he had not, when he knew that his master was so anxious to see the result of that cursed trial.
"Because the post never comes in till after eight, Sir William," answered the man calmly.
"Sometimes sooner, sometimes later," replied his master; "you should have gone to see when you knew I was impatient for news. Go directly, and do not let me find you grow negligent, or, by--! I will send you packing back to your beggarly country a great deal faster than you came out of it."
The gleam came up in the man's eyes; but he answered nothing, and went quietly to the post-office.
In five minutes he came back again, without either letters or newspapers. The post from Paris had not come in. Sir William ordered breakfast, and told him to go again, and wait till he could bring the packets. The man went, and was absent an hour. Either he or the post had resolved to punish Sir William's impatience. It might be either; for assuredly there is a perversity about fate in regard to letters, which makes those most desired tarry by the way, those least longed for come quick and unexpected. When he did come he brought several letters and two newspapers; but it was the latter which were first opened. The first and second pages of the voluminous sheet were passed over unread, and part of the third; but then Sir William's eye fastened upon the tall column, and with a straining gaze he went on to read the defence in the case of the crown against Chandos Winslow. Rapidly he ran the whole over, and his face lighted up with joy. His name had never been mentioned; the defence was an alibi; his brother had him not in his power. Chandos could not pretend to have witnessed anything when he had proved that he was far from the spot; and Sir William started up with joy and relief, saying aloud, "This is excellent!" Then seeing the eye of the valet coldly fixed upon him, he added, "You will be glad to hear, Benini, that my brother is acquitted. He has shown that he was at a distance when the murder was committed, by the evidence of Mr. Fleming and his servant--perfectly unimpeachable--and I have no longer the dread of having my name coupled with that of a felon, in such near relationship. I shall go back to England directly: so get ready, and order horses at eleven."
"I am very glad to hear such news, indeed, Sir William," said the Italian; "I knew Mr. Winslow was not guilty."
The words struck his master, and raised a momentary fear. "I knew Mr. Winslow was not guilty!" he repeated to himself, when the man had retired. "How could he know? Pooh! it was only his foreign way of speaking! Now, dear Emily, in a few short hours you shall be mine!" and he proceeded to read the letters he had received. The two first he merely glanced at; the third he read attentively. "Ha!" he cried; "Mr. Tracy arrested! It is lucky the mortgage is perfect. The man, Bond, run away with all the shares; and this fair, cold Emily a beggar! It matters not. By Heaven! with such charms as hers, she has wealth beyond the Indies. That swelling bosom, that proud, pouting lip, those glorious limbs, are worth a diadem. Aye! and the liquid eyes, too, were they not so cold! I will put fire into those dark orbs, give me but time! We can surely have the horses by ten."
There was no difficulty; the post had little to do in the spring of the year; the carriage was soon ready, the horses too, the town of Mantes left behind; Rouen, Dieppe, reached, and then the town of Brighton. It looked gay and cheerful, with all its lights lighted, and its population in motion, on a fine spring night, and the broad ocean rolling dark and heavy along the shore. The fly was ordered to the York, and Sir William Winslow walked into the nice rooms ready for him, thinking still of Emily Tracy. Every man's mind is a web of which one fixed and predominant idea forms the woof, while other threads cross and recross it. With him the intense and vehement passion for the fair girl whom he could hardly call his bride, was the foundation of all his thoughts, as soon as the apprehension springing from present peril of death and disgrace was removed. That passion had been quelled and kept down for a time; but, like a fire upon which a load of cold and heavy matter has been thrown, it burst forth again with more vehement flame than ever, the moment it made its way through. Remorse chequered it; vague, indefinite fears wove strange figures in the web: but still the eager passion ran through all. When he felt himself on English ground again, a certain degree of trepidation seized him; and he remained in his handsome sitting-room at the York, dull and heavy for sometime. His dinner at first would not down, and it needed several glasses of Madeira and a pint of champagne to help him through the meal. But then he grew quite gay again, and went out to take a stroll in the town. He went into a library, and took share in a raffle, and came back to set off early the next morning for London. His mood was gay and happy, though an occasional touch of gloom crossed it; but at all events it seemed to encourage his valet to ask him for his quarter's wages, which were not due for four or five days. The baronet, however, paid the money readily, and that appeared to encourage the man still further.