“Sir Edward Redclyffe!” he exclaimed.
“Ha! who speaks to me?” exclaimed the old man, in a startled voice, like one who hears himself called at an unexpected moment.
“Sir Edward Redclyffe,” repeated Redclyffe, “I bring you news of Norman Oglethorpe!” [Endnote: 3.]
“The villain! the tyrant! mercy! mercy! save me!” cried the old man, in most violent emotion of terror and rage intermixed, that shook his old frame as if it would be shaken asunder. He stood erect, the picture of ghastly horror, as if he saw before him that stern face that had thrown a blight over his life, and so fearfully avenged, from youth to age, the crime that he had committed. The effect, the passion, was too much,—the terror with which it smote, the rage that accompanied it, blazed up for a moment with a fierce flame, then flickered and went out. He stood tottering; Redclyffe put out his hand to support him; but he sank down in a heap on the floor, as if a thing of dry bones had been suddenly loosened at the joints, and fell in a rattling heap. [Endnote: 4.]
CHAPTER XXV.
Redclyffe, apparently, had not communicated to his agent in London his change of address, when he left the Warden’s residence to avail himself of the hospitality of Braithwaite Hall; for letters arrived for him, from his own country, both private and with the seal of state upon them; one among the rest that bore on the envelope the name of the President of the United States. The good Warden was impressed with great respect for so distinguished a signature, and, not knowing but that the welfare of the Republic (for which he had an Englishman’s contemptuous interest) might be involved in its early delivery at its destination, he determined to ride over to Braithwaite Hall, call on his friend, and deliver it with his own hand. With this purpose, he mounted his horse, at the hour of his usual morning ride, and set forth; and, before reaching the village, saw a figure before him which he recognized as that of the pensioner. [Endnote: 1.]
“Soho! whither go you, old friend?” said the Warden, drawing his bridle as he came up with the old man.
“To Braithwaite Hall, sir,” said the pensioner, who continued to walk diligently on; “and I am glad to see your honor (if it be so) on the same errand.”