But Christopher tore the rings from the hands of Mrs Thornton, exclaiming, "Farewell—farewell!"
"The like o' that!" said Peter, in amazement, holding up his hands; "the laddie is surely daft. Follow him, some o' ye."
Mrs Thornton sank down in hysterics. Her husband endeavoured to soothe and restore her; and the men-servants followed Christopher. But it was an idle task. No one had rivalled him in speed of foot, and they could not overtake him.
"The time will come," he cried, as he ran, "when Peter Thornton will repent his conduct towards me. Follow me not; for the first who shall lay a hand upon me shall die."
The farm-servants who pursued him were awed by his manner, and, after following him about a mile, turned back.
"Where can the laddie have gone to?" said Peter; "he never took ony o' those fits in Jenny's time. I hope, wife, that ye have done nothing to him that ye ought not to have done."
"Me done to him!" she cried; "ye will bring up your beggars, and this is your reward."
"Mrs Thornton," answered he, "I am amazed and astonished to behold this conduct in Christopher. For more than fourteen years he has been an inmate beneath my roof; seldom have I had to quarrel him, and never until you became my wife."
The words between Peter and his better half grew loud and angry; but, instead of describing their matrimonial altercations, we shall follow the orphan Christopher.
But, before accompanying him in his flight from the house of Peter Thornton, we shall go back a few years, and take up another part of his history.