But though this was the general attitude, and the Monday passed without a run of any consequence, a certain number of accounts were closed, and the excitement felt boded ill for the morrow. It waxed rather than waned as the day went on, and Ovington’s heart would have been heavy and his alarm keen if the one had not been lightened and the other dispersed by the good news which Arthur had brought from Garth that morning—the almost incredibly good news!
Aldersbury, however, was in ignorance of that news, and when Clement issued from the bank a few minutes after the doors had closed, there were still knots of people hanging about the corners of the Market Place, watching the bank. He viewed them with a sardonic eye, and could afford to do so; for his heart was light like his father’s, and he could smile at that which, but for the good news of the morning, would have chilled him with apprehension. He turned from the door, intending to seek the Lime-Walks by the river, and, late as it was, to get a breath of fresh air after the confinement of the day. But his intention was never carried out. He had not gone half a dozen yards down the street before his ear caught the sound of a horse breasting Bride Hill at an unusual pace, and something in the speed at which it approached warned him of ill. He waited, and his fears were confirmed. The vehicle, a gig, drew up at the door of the bank, and the driver, a country lad, began to get down. Clement retraced the half-dozen steps that he had taken.
“Who is it you want?” he asked.
The lad sat down again in his seat. “Be Mr. Arthur here, sir?” he inquired.
“Mr. Bourdillon?”
“Ay, sure, sir.”
“No, he is not.”
“Well, I be to follow ’ee wheresomever he be, axing your pardon!”
“I’m afraid you can’t do that, my lad,” Clement explained. “He’s gone to London. He went by coach this morning.”
The lad scratched his head. “O Lord!” he said. “What be I to do? I was to bring him back, whether or no. Squire’s orders.”