“He was, eh! And what prevented the ceremony?”
“She took the plague!” said Sir Norman, strange to say, not at all offended at the boy's familiarity. “And would have been thrown into the plague-pit but for me. And when she recovered she accepted me and cast him off!”
“A quick exchange! The lady's heart must be most flexible, or unusually large, to be able to hold so many at once.”
“It never held him!” said Sir Norman, frowning; “she was forced into the marriage by her mercenary friends. Oh! if I had him here, wouldn't I make him wish the highwaymen had shot him through the head, and done for him, before I would let him go!”
“What is he like—this Count L'Estrange?” said Hubert, carelessly.
“Like the black-hearted traitor and villain he is!” replied Sir Norman, with more energy than truth; for he had caught but passing glimpses of the count's features, and those showed him they were decidedly prepossessing; “and he slinks along like a coward and an abductor as he is, in a slouched hat and shadowy cloak. Oh! if I had him here!” repeated Sir Norman, with vivacity; “wouldn't I—”
“Yes, of course you would,” interposed Hubert, “and serve him right, too! Have you made any inquiries about the matter—for instance, of our friend sleeping the sleep of the just, across there?”
“No—why?”
“Why, it seems to me, if she's been carried off before he fell asleep, he has probably heard or seen something of it; and I think it would not be a bad plan to step over and inquire.”
“Well, we can try,” said Sir Norman, with a despairing face; “but I know it will end in disappointment and vexation of spirit, like all the rest!”