“You do,” said Hardy, with great indignation: and a violent struggle immediately commenced.
The dog, now alarmed by the voices, began to bark outrageously. Tom was terrified lest the old man should come out to see what was the matter; his strength forsook him, and flinging the handkerchief and meat over the hedge, he ran away with all his speed. The handkerchief fell within reach of the dog, who instantly snapped at it; luckily it did not come untied. Hardy saw a pitchfork on a dunghill close beside him, and, seizing upon it, stuck it into the handkerchief. The dog pulled, tore, growled, grappled, yelled; it was impossible to get the handkerchief from between his teeth; but the knot was loosed, the meat, unperceived by the dog, dropped out, and while he dragged off the handkerchief in triumph, Hardy, with inexpressible joy, plunged the pitchfork into the poisoned meat, and bore it away.
Never did hero retire with more satisfaction from a field of battle. Full of the pleasure of successful benevolence, Hardy tripped joyfully home, and vaulted over the window sill, when the first object he beheld was Mr. Power, the usher, standing at the head of the stairs, with his candle in his hand.
“Come up, whoever you are,” said Mr. William Power, in a stern voice. “I thought I should find you out at last. Come up, whoever you are!” Hardy obeyed without reply.—“Hardy!” exclaimed Mr. Power, starting back with astonishment; “is it you, Mr. Hardy?” repeated he, holding the light to his face. “Why, sir,” said he, in a sneering tone, “I’m sure if Mr. Trueman was here he wouldn’t believe his own eyes; but for my part I saw through you long since; I never liked saints, for my share. Will you please to do me the favour, sir, if it is not too much trouble, to empty your pockets.” Hardy obeyed in silence. “Heyday! meat! raw meat! what next?”
“That’s all,” said Hardy, emptying his pockets inside out.
“This is all,” said Mr. Power, taking up the meat.
“Pray, sir,” said Hardy, eagerly, “let that meat be burned, it is poisoned.”
“Poisoned!” cried Mr. William Power, letting it drop out of his fingers; “you wretch!” looking at him with a menacing air: “what is all this? Speak.” Hardy was silent. “Why don’t you speak?” cried he, shaking him by the shoulder impatiently. Still Hardy was silent. “Down upon your knees this minute and confess all: tell me where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing, and who are your accomplices, for I know there is a gang of you; so,” added he, pressing heavily upon Hardy’s shoulder, “down upon your knees this minute, and confess the whole, that’s your only way now to get off yourself. If you hope for my pardon, I can tell you it’s not to be had without asking for.”
“Sir,” said Hardy, in a firm but respectful voice, “I have no pardon to ask, I have nothing to confess; I am innocent; but if I were not, I would never try to get off myself by betraying my companions.”
“Very well, sir! very well! very fine! stick to it, stick to it, I advise you, and we shall see. And how will you look to-morrow, Mr. Innocent, when my uncle, the doctor, comes home?”