“In the morning,” said Sir Henry, “we will, if convenient to you, Mr. Degge, bring up Hopcraft again. To-day I don’t feel as if I could go through anything more.”
“No,” said Mr. Degge, laughing; “after such a race, and such a catastrophe, you may well claim a rest. And what a race that was! As I stood and watched, I thought it was one of the finest things I had ever seen. That tall, black, brawny fellow making a desperate push for his life, and going off the ground like a wild Indian; and you! ’pon my word, I could not have imagined that you could run so! The way you held out was splendid, and shows that your field sports have given you extraordinary stamina. And that Boddily; why, he seems up to anything. It was a neck-and-neck affair between yourself and him! Altogether the event is like a dream to me. I don’t know how I feel. I shall not be myself till I have slept upon it.”
“No!” said Lady Clavering, “a week won’t set me right again. I cannot describe the horror that seized me, when I saw Sir Henry following so closely on the heels of that desperado. ‘He will turn on him and kill him!’ I exclaimed, ‘Oh! that some good angel could warn him of his danger.’”
“Well then, my dear, you had your wish: a good angel did warn me, and that was Tom Boddily.”
“God reward him for it!” said Ann; “and I must reward him, too, somehow.”
“That man,” said Mr. Degge, “has his wits about him if any man has. He is a treasure. I don’t covet my neighbour’s goods, but I do envy Mr. Heritage the possession of such a servant.”
“Ay,” said Sir Henry, “look at the tact of Mrs. Heritage, who saw in a moment, in the poor, ragged haymaker, the trusty and clever fellow that he is.”
“True!” said Mr. Degge, with a merry smile, “the spirit moved her, no doubt.”
They were now at the Hall; and Mr. Degge, though pressed to stay dinner, took his horse and rode home. No doubt, he felt the strange desire there is in every mortal soul of spreading news. He wanted to tell them at home of this extraordinary occurrence. And he wanted to call at Woodburn Grange to tell it, for George Woodburn, though deeply interested in the examination of Scammel, had felt so excessively wearied with his long ride in Leicestershire and loss of sleep, that he had gone home.
The men on the river continued their dragging till it was quite dark, but without any success. Already the news of this startling affair, the arrest and drowning of Scammel, had flown round the country, and to Castleborough, with a multitude of fabulous additions.