It was late when he returned to the house, and the servant who came to give him admittance, exclaimed with a joyful look as he entered, "Oh, sir, do you know what has happened; Master Charles has escaped from prison!"
Mr. Driesen started and gazed in the man's countenance, demanding, in a low tone, "Is he here?"
"Oh! no sir!" answered the servant, "but a constable has been up from the governor of the prison, who is searching Mrs. Effingham's. He said the governor would not come up himself, for he did not think my young master would come here; and the man saw clearly enough that we had not seen him by our faces. He said, however, he had orders to hang about the park, and see whether he came there."
"Send one of the gamekeepers to take him as a poacher, directly," said Mr. Driesen. "Bid Wise go: he is deaf, and will not attend to what the man says. The object is, to get him out of the way for two or three hours."
The servant seemed to understand in a moment, the gamekeepers were sent out, the unfortunate constable seized, upon the pretence that he was poaching, and spent several hours in durance, till Mr. Driesen thought that he might in safety be set at liberty.
We are already aware, however, that Charles Tyrrell met with no interruption in effecting his flight, and we shall therefore pause no longer upon the indignation of the constable, or upon the anger of the governor of the prison. Mr. Driesen, for his part, appeared highly delighted that the escape had taken place, and walked up and down the room the greater part of the night, in a state of agitation unusual with him.
On the following morning, however, he relapsed into gloom and sadness, and so strange was the effect produced upon him by the agitation of mind, to which he was so little accustomed, that his corporeal health seemed to suffer. It was in vain that the cook employed her utmost skill; he seemed to loathe his food, and could scarcely prevail upon himself to eat above two or three mouthfuls at a time. His taste indeed for wine was not gone, and he drank willingly and much of the choicest produce of Sir Francis Tyrrell's cellar. It seemed, however, to heat without exhilarating him. He had always been meager, but he now became thinner than ever. He learned to stoop a good deal, and his footsteps were remarked to be wavering and uneven. The mourning suit, too, which he wore, ill made, in the haste of the moment, made him look thinner and worse in health, than might otherwise have been the case; and many who saw him took the opportunity of moralizing, and making themselves wise in their own conceit, by showing the unfruitfulness of wealth, as displayed in the case of Mr. Driesen, who had scarcely become possessed of riches when health, the more inestimable blessing, was denied him.
At length, however, one night as he was sitting down about to take his coffee, a note was put into his hand, the contents of which made him start, and turn pale. He read it over twice, however, and it may be as well to give here the few words which produced that effect. It began:--
"My dear Mr. Driesen,
"I wish to see you immediately, as I have come back, on various accounts, to stand my trial; but do not intend to surrender myself till the day on which it is to take place. If you will come down then to the little public-house, called the Falcon, in the village of Motstone, any time to-night or to-morrow morning, you will find,