There was a small iron gate at the end of the plantation walk, and this the gardener opened for his master to pass through, closing it after him, and sticking the billhook in his breast.
“Er-rum! Where are you going, Sanders?” said the knight, sharply.
“Back,” said Sanders—“’taint garden here.”
His domain extended no farther.
“Come along this moment, sir; and stop till I dismiss you.”
The knight looked purple as the gardener slowly unlatched the gate, and followed him about a quarter of a mile, to where the estate joined that of the Trevors; and here, as they neared the pastures, angry voices were heard.
“Quick, Sanders,” cried Sir Hampton—“trespassers!”
The next minute they were upon an angry group, consisting of Trevor, Pratt, Humphrey, a man with a sinister look and a mouth like a rat-trap, and a stumpy fellow, who was armed with a long plashing hook.
“Er-rum! what’s this?” exclaimed Sir Hampton, with the voice of authority.
“These men of yours, Sir Hampton,” said Humphrey, flushed and angry, “always trespassing across our ground.”