“Yes; that’s the way to save him!” he at length joyfully exclaimed; “perhaps the only way. And there’s no time to be lost about it. While I’m thinking he may be acting—may have gone too far for me to get him out of the scrape. I shall see him at once—see and question him.”
The General stooped over the table; pressed upon a spring-bell; and then resumed his pacing.
The bell brought up the butler, a portly individual, who so far as could be judged by appearance, was as respectable as the General himself.
“Williams! I wish to see my son Henry;—find out if he’s upon the premises.”
“He’s on the premises, General. He’s down at the stables. Groom says he’s going to mount the brown filly.”
“The brown filly? Why she’s never been ridden before!”
“She never has, General. I think it very dangerous; but that’s just what Master Henry likes. I tried to persuade him against it, but then Master Nigel told me to mind my own business.”
“Send quick to the stable; tell him I forbid his riding the filly. Tell him to come hither. Haste, Williams, haste!”
“Ever running into danger, as if he loved it,” said the General, continuing his soliloquy; “so like what I was myself. The brown filly! Ah! I wish this was all. The Mainwaring damsel’s a worse danger than that.”
At this moment Henry made his appearance, breeched, booted, and spurred, as if for the hunting-field.