‘No; forbear, forbear,’ said Festus, beginning to be frightened at the spirit he had raised. ‘I forget; we should drive him into fits, for he’s subject to ’em, and then perhaps ’twould be manslaughter. Comrades, we must march! No, we’ll lie in the barn. I’ll see into this, take my word for ‘t. Our honour is at stake. Now let’s back to see my beauty home.’
‘We can’t, as we hav’n’t got our hats,’ said one of his fellow-troopers—in domestic life Jacob Noakes, of Muckleford Farm.
‘No more we can,’ said Festus, in a melancholy tone. ‘But I must go to her and tell her the reason. She pulls me in spite of all.’
‘She’s gone. I saw her flee across park while we were knocking at the door,’ said another of the yeomanry.
‘Gone!’ said Festus, grinding his teeth and putting himself into a rigid shape. ‘Then ’tis my enemy—he has tempted her away with him! But I am a rich man, and he’s poor, and rides the King’s horse while I ride my own. Could I but find that fellow, that regular, that common man, I would—’
‘Yes?’ said the trumpet-major, coming up behind him.
‘I,’—said Festus, starting round,—‘I would seize him by the hand and say, “Guard her; if you are my friend, guard her from all harm!”’
‘A good speech. And I will, too,’ said Loveday heartily.
‘And now for shelter,’ said Festus to his companions.
They then unceremoniously left Loveday, without wishing him good-night, and proceeded towards the barn. He crossed the park and ascended the down to the camp, grieved that he had given Anne cause of complaint, and fancying that she held him of slight account beside his wealthier rival.