“Now that your lordship has lavished all your abuse upon me, perhaps I may be permitted to depart,” said Green, with much apparent coolness, though in reality he was terribly alarmed.
“Not until you have explained the meaning of this atrocious proceeding in which you have borne so prominent a part,” replied Lord William. “Make up your mind to answer my questions in a way that shall carry truth upon the face of your words—or prepare to give an account of your conduct to the proper authority.”
“What—what would you have me do, my lord?” asked the miserable wretch, now unable to conceal his terror—unable also to subdue the trembling of his limbs.
“Has foul play been adopted with regard to Sir Gilbert Heathcote?” demanded Lord William, speaking in a measured tone, and fixing his eyes keenly upon the clerk.
“Good God! Does your lordship suspect that he is murdered?” exclaimed Green, horrified at the bare idea. “No—no: thank Heaven—it is not so bad as that!”
“Thank Heaven also!” murmured Mrs. Sefton, her heart experiencing a relief so great and sudden—for the man was evidently speaking the truth—that she felt as if she were about to faint through excessive joy.
“I scarcely apprehended such a frightful alternative as my words may have seemed to imply,” said Trevelyan. “But delay not, man—speak—tell me—tell this afflicted lady also—where is Sir Gilbert Heathcote?”
“My lord, I dare not——”
“Hesitate not another moment, sir,” cried the nobleman, grasping the clerk violently by the collar of his coat: “hesitate not, I say—or I will drag you into the presence of the magistrate. Tell me—where is my friend?—where is Sir Gilbert?”
“My lord—my lord”—stammered the affrighted wretch, his countenance rendered hideous by its workings.