“Do believe that’s her room,” said Sir Moses, stopping and looking at the light. “Do believe that’s her signal for beloved Anthony Thom. If I catch the young scoundrel,” continued he, hurrying on, “I’ll—I’ll—I’ll break every bone in his skin.” With this determination, Sir Moses put on as fast as the now darker lower ground would allow, due regard being had to not missing his way.
At length he came to the cattle hurdles that separated the east side of the park from the house, climbing over which he was presently among the dark yews and hollies, and box-bushes of the shrubbery. He then paused to reconnoitre.—The light was still there.—If it wasn’t Mrs. Margerum’s room, it was very near it; but he thought it was hers by the angle of the building and the chimneys at the end. What should he do?—Throw a pebble at the window and try to get her to lower what she had, or wait and see if he could take Anthony Thom, cargo and all? The night was cold, but not sufficiently so, he thought, to stop the young gentleman from coming, especially if he had his red worsted comforter on; and as Sir Moses threw his rug over his own shoulders, he thought he would go for the great haul, at all events; especially as he felt he could not converse with Mrs. Margerum à la Anthony Thom, should she desire to have a little interchange of sentiment. With this determination he gathered his rug around him, and proceeded to pace a piece of open ground among the evergreens, like the Captain of a ship walking the quarter-deck, thinking now of his money, now of his horses, now of Miss Bannister, and now of the next week’s meets of his hounds.—He had not got half through his current of ideas when a footstep sounded upon the gravel-walk; and, pausing in his career, Sir Moses distinctly recognised the light patter of some one coming towards him. He down to charge like a pointer to his game, and as the sound ceased before the light-showing window, Sir Moses crept stealthily round among the bushes, and hid behind a thick ground-sweeping yew, just as a rattle of peas broke upon the panes.
The sash then rose gently, and Sir Moses participated in the following conversation:—
Mrs. Margerum (from above)—“O, my own dearly beloved Anthony Thom, is that you, darling! But don’t, dear, throw such big ‘andfulls, or you’ll be bricking the winder.”
Master Anthony Thom (from below)—“No, mother; only I thought you might be asleep.”
Mrs. Margerum—“Sleep, darling, and you coming! I never sleep when my own dear Anthony Thom is coming! Bless your noble heart! I’ve been watching for you this—I don’t know how long.”
Master Anthony Thom—“Couldn’t get Peter Bateman’s cuddy to come on.”
Mrs. Margerum—“And has my Anthony Thom walked all the way?”
Master Anthony Thom—“No; I got a cast in Jackey Lishman the chimbley-sweep’s car as far as Burnfoot Bridge. I’ve walked from there.”
Mrs. Margerum—“Bless his sweet heart! And had he his worsted comforter on?”