This was another piece of information for the baronet and his friends, and the cause of another explosion of triumphant laughter, at the expense of their late nuisance, the bragging Mr. Tomkins,—Sir George declaring that he had repeatedly thought of asking the question as to how he had possessed himself of the wretched animal; and now the mystery was amusingly explained.
One long winter’s morning, when the weather was so stormy as to forbid all hope of being able to stir out for the day, the baronet broke an unusually protracted silence by saying, “Mr. Jones, I have a favour to ask you.”
“Glad in my heart,” replied Twm, “for some change to make any return for the favours I have received.”
“Fiddle-de-dee with your favours! you talk like a mountainer, lad,” cried Sir George; “balance against us—owe thee much—Joan’s life—thy merry company; but how the devil to part with thee!—joy to thee, this London—death to me—no fox-hunting, all smoke and devilment!”
Lady Devereaux came out and explained that Sir George had a pressing necessity which he had long put off, of sending to London a considerable sum, due to a certain Mr. Martyn, being the last instalment of the purchase-money for some land bought of him by our baronet.
Having just received an application for the cash, Sir George was startled to find how much time had elapsed in the delay caused by his aversion to going personally to London; for nothing less would do in those days, except by a trusty messenger. “Thou’rt a lad of mettle, Twm, head as well as heart,” resumed Sir George—“arms to fight, and legs to run—roads full of thieves—can’t fight them all—out-wit them!”
Twm was at no loss to discover that the baronet was loth to leave his family residence, his fox-hunting, and his neighbours’ society, to encounter the perils and discomforts of a journey to the metropolis, and that he was wishful that Twm should go there as his representative, and accordingly he declared himself ready to commence his journey whenever Sir George might please.
“Let us have a little fine weather first,” replied his engaging hostess, “and in the meantime we will make the necessary preparations for your departure.”
Our hero gazed on her animated friendly face, with an admixture of the romantic gallantry of the knights of old, and the religious veneration of a devotee towards his patron saint; for he felt that his fate was somehow mysteriously connected with her influence, and never forgot that she was the spirit of his glorious vision, the lady of his dream.
Squire Prothero’s hearty laugh disturbed somewhat these gentle reflections. He had just bought a bull and hired a servant, and was in high glee at what he considered the accomplishment of a favourable bargain. The bull, he said, was a large and glorious white creature of the Herefordshire breed, and the man a small black one, of the true Cardiganshire runt description; but cunning as a fox, and keen as a kite. A fellow, the worthy squire said, who was proverbially known in the neighbourhood of Aberteivy for his exceeding shrewdness, by no other cognomen than Ready Rosser.