“Amen, most Christian Christian,” replied the Duke. “I am glad to see thou hast yet some touch of grace that leads thee to augur so. But Empson, the hen Chiffinch, and half-a-dozen more, saw the swain’s entrance and departure. Please examine these witnesses with your own wisdom, if you think your time may not be better employed in tracing the fugitives. I believe he gained entrance as one of some dancing or masking party. Rowley, you know, is accessible to all who will come forth to make him sport. So in stole this termagant tearing gallant, like Samson among the Philistines, to pull down our fine scheme about our ears.”
“I believe you, my lord,” said Christian; “I cannot but believe you; and I forgive you, since it is your nature, for making sport of what is ruin and destruction. But which way did they take?”
“To Derbyshire, I should presume, to seek her father,” said the Duke. “She spoke of going into paternal protection, instead of yours, Master Christian. Something had chanced at Chiffinch’s, to give her cause to suspect that you had not altogether provided for his daughter in the manner which her father was likely to approve of.”
“Now, Heaven be praised,” said Christian, “she knows not her father is come to London! and they must be gone down either to Martindale Castle, or to Moultrassie Hall; in either case they are in my power—I must follow them close. I will return instantly to Derbyshire—I am undone if she meet her father until these errors are amended. Adieu, my lord. I forgive the part which I fear your Grace must have had in baulking our enterprise—it is no time for mutual reproaches.”
“You speak truth, Master Christian,” said the Duke, “and I wish you all success. Can I help you with men, or horses, or money?”
“I thank your Grace,” said Christian, and hastily left the apartment.
The Duke watched his descending footsteps on the staircase, until they could be heard no longer, and then exclaimed to Jerningham, who entered, “Victoria! victoria! magna est veritas et prævalebit!—Had I told the villain a word of a lie, he is so familiar with all the regions of falsehood—his whole life has been such an absolute imposture, that I had stood detected in an instant; but I told him truth, and that was the only means of deceiving him. Victoria! my dear Jerningham, I am prouder of cheating Christian, than I should have been of circumventing a minister of state.”
“Your Grace holds his wisdom very high,” said the attendant.
“His cunning, at least, I do, which, in Court affairs, often takes the weather-gage of wisdom,—as in Yarmouth Roads a herring-buss will baffle a frigate. He shall not return to London if I can help it, until all these intrigues are over.”
As his Grace spoke, the Colonel, after whom he had repeatedly made inquiry, was announced by a gentleman of his household. “He met not Christian, did he?” said the Duke hastily.