"Oh, Lord!—There's woful work at the Hall!"
"What's the matter?" cried all at once, rising and standing round the new-comer.
"If thou be'st drunk, John," said Dickons, sternly, "there's a way of sobering thee—mind that."
"Oh, Master Dickons, I don't know what's come to me, for grief and fright! The squire, they do say, and all of us, are to be turned out o' Yatton!"
"What!" exclaimed all in a breath.
"There's some one else lays claim to it. We must all go! Oh, Lud! oh, Lud!" No one spoke for a while; and consternation was written on every face.
"Sit thee down here, John," said Dickons at length, "and let us hear what thou hast to say—or thou wilt have us all be going up in a body to the Hall."
Having forced on him part of a glass of ale, he began,—"There hath been plainly mischief brewing, somewhere, this many days, as I could tell by the troubled face o' t' squire; but he kept it to himself. Lawyer Parkinson and another have been latterly coming in chaises from London; and last night the squire got a letter that seems to have finished all. Such trouble there were last night wi' t' squire, and young Madam and Miss! And to-day the parson came, and were a long while alone with old Madam, who hath since had a stroke, or a fit, or something of that like, (the doctors have been there all day from Grilston,) and likewise young Madam hath taken to her bed, and is ill. Oh, Lud! oh, Lud! Such work there be going on!"
"And what of the squire and Miss?" inquired some one, after all had maintained a long silence.
"Oh, 't would break your heart to see them," said the man, dolefully: "they be both pale as death: he so dreadful sorrowful, but quiet, like, and she now and then wringing her hands, and both of them going from the bedroom of old Madam to young Madam's. Nay, an' there had been half a dozen deaths i' t' house, it could not be worse. Neither the squire or Miss hath touched food the whole day!"