‘What’s that to you, sirrah?’ rejoined the miser, with more anger in his words than in his tones or looks. ‘But I’ll tell you thus much, I never in my life wished a day to be passed so much as I do this.’
‘You excite my curiosity, father,’ said Hilda. ‘Why do you wish it passed?’
‘Because, if a certain sum of money is not paid to me before six o’clock, I shall be the possessor of one of the finest estates in Wales,’ replied the miser. ‘It must now be five; in another hour I shall be safe—safe, Hilda!—the mortgage will be foreclosed—the estate, mine! Mr. Diggs will be here at six. If I obtain this prize, Jacob, you shall drink my health in the glass of wine I put back in the bottle.’
‘Then it’ll be the first time I ever so drunk it,’ replied Jacob.
‘Take care it isn’t the last, you thankless varlet,’ rejoined the miser. ‘Don’t stand chattering there! Go and see what’s o’clock.’ As Jacob departed to obey his injunction, Mr. Scarve paced to and fro within the room, rubbing his hands and chuckling to himself. Five minutes nearly elapsed before Jacob returned; and when he did so, it was with a countenance of very peculiar significance. ‘Well, is it five?’ cried the miser.
‘No, it’s fourteen,’ replied Jacob.
‘Fourteen!’ exclaimed the miser. ‘What do you mean? You’re drunk, sirrah—drunk on the promise of a glass of wine.’
‘No, I’m not,’ replied Jacob. ‘I mean that there is a troop of fourteen horsemen at the door. There!—don’t you hear’em? They make noise enough, I should think.’
And as he spoke, a loud knocking, mixed with shouts and laughter, came sounding down the passage.
‘It is the mortgage money, father,’ said Hilda.