Mr. Sutton winced.
“I will do even that,” he said, “if you will no longer lose time.”
“But she may return any minute.”
“She will not!” Mr. Sutton retorted, with anger. “She will not! God forgive us for letting her go! If I failed in my duty, sir, do you do yours! Do you do yours!”
And such power does enthusiasm give a man, that he who these many days had seemed to the inn a poor, timid creature, slinking in and out as privately as possible, now shamed all and kindled all.
“By jingo, I will, your reverence!” Bishop cried, catching the flame. “I will!” he repeated heartily. And he turned about and began to give orders with energy.
Fortunately Nadin arrived at that moment; and with his burly form and broad Lancashire accent, he seemed to bring with him the vigour of ten. In three minutes he apprehended the facts, pooh-poohed the notion that the girl would return, and with a good round oath “dommed them Jacobins,” to give his accent for once, “for the graidliest roogs and the roofest devils i’ all Lancashire—and that’s saying mooch! But we mun ha’ them hanged now,” he continued, striding to and fro in his long, rough horseman’s coat. “We mun ha’ them hanged! We’ll larn them!”
In ten minutes the road twinkled with lights ...