Captain Moreton only laughed, though the words were said with a threatening manner; and, as soon as she was gone, he plied Harry Wittingham with wine, which was followed by brandy-and-water; and in the pleasant occupation thus provided, the two worthy compeers continued to exercise themselves, till the sky grew grey, and the roll of a chaise was heard before the garden.
"There, Wittingham," cried Captain Moreton, starting up, "there's the key of the little cellar--small enough, but there's sufficient in it to lay you dead-drunk for a fortnight. There's the key of the cage, too; keep the bird safe till ten or eleven o'clock to-morrow. I will try to keep my grey mare in hand; and, if we can manage both, you will hear some news tomorrow night, that will make you laugh heartily--Farewell, my good fellow," and going to the door, he shouted aloud, "Where's the portmanteau?"
"I put it in the shay, Sir," said the girl; and, turning once more to Harry Wittingham, Captain Moreton told him that he should see him before ten the following night, and went to seek his fair companion.
In a few minutes more they were gone; but the gentleman they left behind did not see any reason why he should not finish the bottle of wine on the table, "just to take the taste of the brandy out of his mouth." After that he fell asleep in an armchair; and so sound was his slumber, that the maid came in twice and looked at him; but seeing that there was no probability of his waking for some hours, she put a fresh pair of candles on the table, and went to bed.
Harry Wittingham slept and dreamed: He thought he had committed some horrible act, that the hue and cry was raised, the whole county in pursuit, and that he could hear the galloping of horses coming close after him. He struggled to spur his own beast forward, but its legs would not move; and, looking down with horror and consternation, he found it was a rocking-horse with little bells at its ears and its tail. Suddenly a constable seemed to grasp him by the shoulder; and, starting up in agony, he found the servant-girl shaking him.
"Please, Sir," she said, "Mrs. Billiter has sent up the man to say, that your father is dying, and you must go down directly."
Without a moment's thought or consideration, Harry Wittingham ran out, snatched up his hat in the passage; and, telling the man to follow on foot, mounted the horse and rode away to Tarningham.
CHAPTER XL.
The sun shone bright in Stephen Gimlet's cottage for a couple of hours after dawn, till about an hour before evening's close. For the first three or four hours the same sunshine seemed to pervade the interior house, that glowed without. Widow Lamb seemed contented with what she had done; her meek face wore as warm a smile as ever now shone upon it; and she busied herself during the morning in all the little household arrangements, and in teaching the boy his letters. The boy himself played about merrily, whilst she was occupied with the inanimate things of the place, and then came and said his letters, infamously ill, indeed, but still somewhat better than usual. When the sun got round to his southern-most point, Widow Lamb, not at all surprised at her son-in-law's absence, as its probability had been announced beforehand, gave the boy his dinner, and took a very moderate portion of food herself; but, when the day had three or four hours declined from its prime, she wondered that Stephen had not come back, and, at the end of an hour, grew somewhat uneasy. She consoled herself, however, by supposing, that Lord Lenham had not yet returned from London, and that Stephen was waiting for his arrival; but another hour passed, and another; and at length her son, Billy Lamb, made his appearance, inquiring somewhat anxiously for his brother-in-law.
Mrs. Lamb simply told him, that Stephen was out, adding that he had been away all day.