With this wind-up, the deer-stealer let himself down into the great beechwood chair—as easily as his unmanageable limbs would allow him—and, in less than ten seconds’ time, his snoring proved that he was asleep.
Volume Two—Chapter Fifteen.
The parting speech of her resentful lover had not fallen upon the ears of Bet Dancey without producing an effect.
It was not the opprobrious epithet concluding it that had caused the red to forsake her cheeks—leaving them, with her lips, blanched and bloodless. It was not the vilifying phrase, but the hint that preceded it, which caused her to start to her feet, and stand for some time gasping with suspended breath.
“Maybe thee hast seen thy fine fancy for the last time. Ha! I’ve did that this night ’ll put iron bars atween thee and him.”
Such were Walford’s exact words.
Between her and whom? Holtspur? Who else? Who but Holtspur was in her mind? And who but he could be in the mind of Walford?
She knew that Walford was fiercely jealous of the black horseman. Glad would she have been for the latter to have given him cause. Alas! she alone had exhibited the signs that had conducted Walford to this jealousy.