Nor did he go in silence, although he was alone. In a kind of involuntary soliloquy he kept muttering, as he rode on, long strings of phrases denunciatory of the host whose roof he had just quitted.
The daughter, too, of that host came in for a share of his muttered denunciations, which at times, assumed the form of a menace.
Part of what he said was spoken distinctly and with emphasis:—
“The dusht off my shoosh, Loftish Vochan—I flingsh it back to you! Gott for damsch! there wash a time when you would be glad for my two hunder poundsh. Not for any monish? Bosh! Grand lady, Mish Kate—Mish Quasheby! Ha! I knowsh a thing—I knowsh a leetle thing. Some day, may be, yourshelf sell for lesh ash two hunder poundsh. Ach! I not grudgsh twice the monish to see that day!
“The dusht off my shoosh to both of yoush!” he repeated, as he cleared the gate-entrance. “I’sh off your grounds, now; and, if I hash you here, I shay you something of my mind—something ash make you sell your wench for lesh ash two hunder poundsh! I do so, some time, pleash gott! Ach!”
Uttering this last exclamation with a prolonged aspirate, he raised himself erect in his stirrups; and, half turning his mule, shook his umbrella in a threatening manner towards Mount Welcome—his eye accompanying the action with a glance that expressed some secret but vindictive determination.
As he faced back into the road, another personage appeared upon the scene—a female equestrian, who, trotting briskly up, turned her horse, and rode along by his side.
She was a young girl, or, rather a young woman—a bright, beautiful creature—who appeared an angel by the side of that demonlike old man.
She had evidently been waiting for him at the turning of the road; and the air of easy familiarity, with the absence of any salutation as they met, told that they had not long been separated.
Who was this charming equestrian?