There was no immediate answer to this summons, and the footman rang again and again; and finally, as the delay still continued, he gave the bell a dozen tremendous pulls in quick succession. This brought an answer, at any rate; for a man appeared, emerging from a neighboring grove, who walked toward the gate with a rapid pace. He was a short, bull-necked, thickset, broad-shouldered man, with coarse black hair and heavy, matted beard. His nose was flat on his face, his chin was square, and he looked exactly like a prize-fighter. He had a red shirt, with a yellow spotted handkerchief flung about his neck, and his corduroy trowsers were tucked into a pair of muddy boots.
The moment he reached the gate he roared out a volley of the most fearful oaths: Who were they? What did they mean, dash them? What the dash dash did they mean by making such a dash dash noise?
“You'll get your ugly head broken, you scoundrel!” roared the footman, who was beside himself with rage at this insult to his mistress, coming as it did at the close of so long and irritating a delay. “Hold your infernal tongue, and open the gate at once. Is this the way you dare to talk before your mistress?”
“Mistress! You dashed fool,” was the response, “what the dash do I know about mistresses? I'll make a beginning with you, you sleek, fat powder-monkey, with your shiny beaver and stuffed calves!”
Edith heard all this, and her amazement was so great that it drove away all fatigue. Her heart beat high and her spirit rose at this insult. Opening the carriage door, she sprang out, and, walking up to the gate, she confronted the porter as a goddess might confront a satyr. The calm, cold gaze which she gave his was one which the brute could not encounter. He could face any one of his own order; but the eye that now rested on him gave him pain, and his glance fell sulkily before that of his mistress.
“I am your mistress—Miss Dalton,” said Edith. “Open that gate immediately.”
“I don't know any thing about mistresses,” said the fellow. “My orders are not to open them gates to nobody.”
At this rebuff Edith was for a moment perplexed, but soon rallied. She reflected that this man was a servant under orders, and that it would be useless to talk to him. She must see the principal.
“Who gave those orders?” she asked.
“Mr. Wiggins,” said the man, gruffly.