Mrs. Gilbert raved, and her mother reviled and scorned; and the wretched old man, if he attempted to make his voice heard in the domestic uproar, was silenced by Mrs. Gilbert telling him to hold his tongue, that she wanted no advice from such a superannuated dotard.
The report of these doings at Heath Farm were not long in reaching the ears of the Vicar, and gave great pain to Dorothy. What was to be done to rescue Gilbert from ruin? that was the great question.
Mr. Fitzmorris tried to obtain an interview with him, and for that purpose called several times at the house, but always received the same answer from Martha Wood, "that young Mr. Rushmere was not at home."
"Where was he to be found?"
"She did not know. Perhaps at Jonathan Sly's, at the 'Plough and Harrow,' may be at Storby, where he was looking for a man, to whom he had sold a team of horses."
So to Storby the Vicar went, and inquired of every likely and unlikely place in the town for Lieutenant Rushmere. At one low tavern the landlord told him that he had been there with a horse jockey, that they had some liquor, and went out again, he believed, to bet in the cock-pit.
"Where may that be? I did not know that you had such an abomination in the town," said Mr. Fitzmorris.
"Well, it's not zactly in the town, sir. There's a little low hedge ale house, by the road side, as you come in by the back way. A hole, kept by old Striker, that was a smuggler, and made to suffer some years agone. He keeps the 'Game Cock.' It is a bad place, only resorted to by thieves and swindlers; and a dreadful pity that the Leaftenant ha' got in with such a set. He'll soon bring the old man to a gaol, and hisself is going to the devil as fast as he can."
Mr. Fitzmorris perceived the great urgency of getting Gilbert out of the clutches of these men, and after thinking over the matter for some minutes, he proposed to the landlord to go with him to the "Game Cock," and tell young Rushmere that a friend wanted to speak to him on a matter of great importance.
"Na, na, I would not venture my nose in amongst them wild chaps for a crown piece. You see, sir, I'm but a little man of a quiet turn. I never could fight in my life, an' it's only farm labourers that ever frequents my tap, an' they have but little money to spend, and are too heavy and loompish to quarrel, and kick up a bobbery. They only laughs and grins, and jokes one with the tother, whiles they drinks a glass of beer or yeats a mouthful of bread an' cheese, on their way down with their teams to the wharf, where they ships loads of corn, an' then return with coals. These poor creturs are just harmless as lambs. The fellows that Rushmere has got in with are a set of noisy dare devils, who'll knock a man down as soon as look at him. I think yer Reverence had better not go near them."