"First, sir, let us see the money," cried Mr. Tims; "and then let any man touch me if he dare. The money, sir! Where is the money, I say?"
"Here, sir!" replied Captain Delaware, drawing out a pocket-book. "Here is the money that you require; and, therefore, before proceeding to any thing else, we will terminate this business."
It would be difficult, in that confused gabble of a thousand depraved dialects, which the reviews call "good manly English," to express the horror and despair of Mr. Peter Tims, at finding that--notwithstanding all the arts and artifices he had used, and which were a thousandfold more in number than we have had space to put down--the money had been obtained; and, therefore, that the patronage and business of Lord Ashborough might be looked upon as lost to him forever.
Nothing, however, could be done; and he was obliged to sit down and transact the receipt of the money, and all the other formal business incident to the occasion, with a bitter heart and a gloomy countenance. The notes, indeed, which Captain Delaware handed to him, in discharge of his father's bill, he examined with scrupulous attention; and had he been able to detect even a suspicious look about any of them, would probably have made it a plea to delay the acceptance of the payment; but all was fair and clear; and in half an hour the bill was paid, and Sir Sidney Delaware's estate was delivered from the burden which had kept his family in poverty for so many years. Mr. Tims, indeed, took care to conduct himself with a degree of irritating insolence, intended, beyond doubt, to tempt the young officer to strike him as he had threatened, which would probably have been the case, had not Sir Sidney Delaware pointed out to his son, in a calm bitter tone, the real object of the lawyer, observing aloud, that pettifogging attorneys often made considerable sums by carrying actions of assault into a peculiar court, where the costs to the offender were very severe.
This turned the scale; and, when the whole was concluded, the lawyer was suffered to depart, loaded with nothing but disappointment and contempt.
CHAPTER XIX.
There are few things in life so troublesome or so tedious as the turnings back which one is often obliged to make, as one journeys along over the surface of the world; the more especially because these turnings back happen, in an infinite proportion, oftener to the hasty and the impatient than to other men; and that, too, on account of their very haste and impatience, which makes them cast a shoe here, or drop their whip there, or ride off and forget their spurs at the other place. But yet it is not an unpleasant sight, to see some sedate old hound, when a whole pack of reckless young dogs have overrun the scent in their eagerness, get them all gently back again, under the sage direction of the huntsman and his whips, and with upturned nose, and tongue like a church bell, announce the recovery.
Know then, dear readers, that in our eagerness to get at the scene just depicted, we have somewhat overrun the scent, and must return, however unwillingly, to the time and circumstances, under which Henry Beauchamp left Mr. Tims of Ryebury, on the preceding night. It was, as may be remembered, fine, clear, autumn weather. The night, indeed, would have been dark, but for the moon, which poured a grand flood of light through the valleys, and over the plains; and Mr. Tims, who loved the light--not so much because his own ways were peculiarly good, as because it is known to be a great scarer of those whose ways are more evil still--remarked with satisfaction, as he ushered his guest to the door, that it was as clear as day.
"Sally, Sally!" he exclaimed, as soon as Mr. Beauchamp was gone, "are all the doors and windows shut?"
"Lord bless me, yes!" answered the dirty maid, shouting in return from the kitchen, like Achilles from the trenches. "As fast shut as hands can make them."