“And he said it was too late to come on to-night,” cried Timson, again; “but I would have my way. There’s my hand, Mr Pellet, sir. There it is, and—there, I never felt happier in my life.” And to prove it, Timson made a charge at Patty, who escaped him, however, by running up to quiet the children, who were like skittles, and upsetting one another till there was quite a chorus.
“God bless all here!” said the vicar, fervently, by way of benediction, as he stood in the passage; and then they would have departed, but for Timson, who turned back to shake hands once more with Jared, exclaiming—
“There’s my hand, Mr Pellet, sir: I always declared it wasn’t you.”
And again, as Jared stood at the door, watching the two down the street, Timson turned again to shout,—“I always said it wasn’t;” while the gentle, reproving voice of the old vicar was heard to ejaculate—
“Oh, Timson!”
Volume Three—Chapter Thirteen.
An Accident.
“No news,” day after day—day after day, till Harry was weary of repeating the words to the troubled father. Sergeant Falkner came often enough to repeat his story, that so far he had done everything possible; but that he had scent of something which he felt sure must turn out right.