“Gregory Garth!” cried he, in a loud voice, and placing his lips within an inch of the footpad’s ear, “Gregory Garth! Stand and deliver!”
The well-known summons acted upon the sleeper like an electric shock—as when often pronounced by himself it had upon others—though perhaps with a different significance.
Starting into an erect attitude—and nearly staggering into the fire, before he could get upon his legs—Garth instinctively repeated the phrase:
“Stand and deliver!”
Then, in the confusion of his half-awakened senses, he continued his accustomed formula:—“Your money or your life! Keep your ground, comrades! They won’t resist. They’re civil gents—”
“Ha! ha! ha!” interrupted the cavalier, with a shout of laughter, as he seized his ci-devant servitor by the shoulder, and pushed him back upon the bench. “Be quiet, Gregory; or you’ll scare the rats out of the house.”
“O Lor—O Lord! Master Henry—you it be! I war a dreamin’—I arn’t awake yet—a thousand pardons, Master Henry!”
“Ha! ha! ha! Well, Gregory—Fortunately there’s nothing but the rats to listen to these dreams of yours; else you might be telling tales upon yourself that would lead to the losing of your new commission.”
“My new commission! What mean ye by that, Master Henry?”
“Why, from that which you carry in your hand,” replied the cavalier, nodding significantly towards the letter. “I take it, you’ve turned King’s courier?”