"Come," said he, "I'm not going to be made chicken-hearted. Show me the way to his room,—we're wasting time." And he led the way out of the room, followed by the others.
Alrina, now, seeing that tears and entreaties would not avail, preceded the party upstairs; but when she arrived at her father's bedroom-door, she stopped and begged the constable to allow her to go in first, to break the nature of their business to him, and prepare him for their approach.
"No!" said the constable, sharply, placing his hand on the handle of the door; "that dodge won't do, my pretty lady. A cunning man and a shrewd woman are a match for the devil, when they get together." So, seeing she had no alternative but to open the door and admit them, Alrina, with a trembling hand, lifted the latch, and, preceding the others, hastily gained the side of the bed, and, kneeling down, begged her father not to be frightened, for he would be treated kindly. She said this without looking on his face; for she knew she could say nothing to comfort him, and she did not like to witness the shock which this untimely intrusion must occasion, and so she pressed her face on the bed, as she knelt, and said these few introductory words, and waited to hear what he would say to his unwelcome visitors. No one spoke for a few minutes. A deathlike silence prevailed throughout the room. At last the constable broke the spell by saying,—
"Escaped again, by George!"
"Escaped!" cried Alrina, jumping up from her kneeling posture; "thank God for that. But how escaped? how could he——?"
She did not finish her sentence; for, looking down where she had dreaded to look before, the awful truth was but too evident. There was no mistaking it. There lay the earthly remains of her poor deluded father, it was true, but the spirit had indeed escaped, and fled to regions unknown!
The shock was too great for her. She had suffered the severest mental agony that day that it was possible for mortal to bear. She had borne up bravely while there appeared a chance of saving her father from disgrace; but now she broke down altogether, and fell on the floor insensible. Alice Ann had followed the intruders into the room; and, as all her efforts to rouse her young mistress were in vain, she asked the gentlemen to assist in carrying her into her own room.
Fowler and Josiah were called in, and a consultation was held as to where Alrina should be placed for the present. She could not remain there, under the circumstances,—that was very clear. Several plans were proposed and discussed, but nothing could be decided on for her. She might object to them all when she recovered her senses. At last Squire Pendray proposed that she should be conveyed to his house, where he was sure she would be taken care of; and he felt, moreover, although he did not express it, that the companionship of such a noble strong-minded girl might lead to the recovery of his own daughter. This was thought an excellent plan, and everyone declared that the squire was most kind and considerate. But then came another difficulty. She would not accept his offer now, he feared, any more than she would the offer that was made her by his wife, before. And in this he thought she acted foolishly,—more foolishly than he should have imagined from the good sense she had displayed in other respects.
Under these circumstances, he thought, they must get her to Pendrea-house by stratagem, and, when there, he felt sure she would like it too well to run away, and he was sure his family would approve of the plan, and would make her as comfortable as possible. So it was arranged that she should be taken carefully, in her present unconscious state, and placed gently in the covered cart, well wrapped up, and that Alice Ann should go also to take care of her, on the road. This plan Alice Ann thought capital. So the poor unconscious girl was carried out gently by Josiah in his great strong arms, and placed comfortably in the covered cart, with Alice Ann by her side, and Josiah was left in charge of the house and the dead body of its late owner.
Mr. Morley said he must go and see his brother again; for he feared that the sufferings and privations he had lately undergone, had seriously impaired his health and undermined his constitution. So he went on to "The Commercial" inn, while the squire and Lieut. Fowler proceeded towards their respective homes; and as their road lay the same way for some distance, they walked together. Fowler made himself so agreeable to the old gentleman during their walk that he was sorry to part with him when their roads turned in different directions. He did not ask him, however, to continue his companion all the way to Pendrea-house; but during his solitary walk after they had parted, he began to think that such an agreeable fellow could never really be the villain he supposed him to be with regard to his conduct towards his daughter. His opinion of him was softened a good deal; and if a satisfactory explanation of his conduct could have been given just then, and a proposal made in a straightforward honourable way, the old gentleman would, no doubt, have consented, rather than leave his daughter pine away thus,—the cause of which he now devined so truly. But the explanation did not come, nor was the proposal made; so the old squire walked home alone to prepare his family for the reception of their visitor, who was being brought slowly round by the broad road, while he and Fowler had taken a short cut across the common.