ON the sudden appearance of old Peter in the deplorable condition described in the last chapter, we all sprang to our feet, eager to learn the cause of what we beheld. We were not long kept in suspense, for as soon as he could recover breath enough to speak, he turned to Mr.

Vernor, saying, in a voice hoa.r.s.e with sorrow and indignation:--"If you knows anything of this here wickedness, as I half suspects you do, servant as I am, I tells you to your face, you're a willain, and I could find in my heart to -448-- serve you as your precious nephew (as you calls him) and his hired bullies have served me".

"How dare you use such language to me?" was the angry reply. "You have been drinking, sirrah; leave the room instantly."

"Tell me, Peter," exclaimed I, unable longer to restrain myself, "what has happened? Your mistress--Clara--is she safe?"

"That's more than I knows," was the reply; "if she is now, she won't be soon, without we moves pretty sharp; for she's in precious unsafe company. While we was a-looking after one thief, we've been robbed by t'other: we was watching Muster Wilford, and that young scoundrel c.u.mberland has cut in and bolted with Miss Clara!"

"Distraction!" exclaimed I, nearly maddened by the intelligence; "which road have they taken? how long have they been gone?"

"Not ten minutes," was the reply; "for as soon as ever they had knocked me down, they forced her into the carriage, and was off like lightning; and I jumped up, and ran here as hard as legs would carry me."

"Then they may yet be overtaken," cried I, seizing my hat; "but are you sure Wilford has nothing to do with it?"

"Quite certain," was the answer; "for I met him a-going a-shooting as I c.u.m in, and he stopped me to know what was the matter: and when I told him, he seemed quite fl.u.s.tered like, and swore he'd make c.u.mberland repent it."

"Mad, infatuated boy!" exclaimed Mr. Vernor; "bent on his own ruin."

And burying his face in his hands, he sank into a chair, apparently insensible to everything that was pa.s.sing.

"Now, Peter," I continued, "every moment is of importance; tell me which road to take, and then get me the best horse in the stable, without a moment's delay. I will bear you harmless."

"I've thought of all that, sir," rejoined Peter Barnett. "It's no use your going alone; there's three of them besides the postboys. No! you must take me with you; and they've knocked me about so, that I don't think I could sit a horse, leastways not to go along as we must go, if we means to catch 'em. No! I've ordered fresh horses to your carriage, it's lighter than the one they have got, and that will tell in a long chase; you _must_ take me to show you the way, Muster Fairlegh."

"Well, come along, then. Mr. Frampton, I'll bring you your niece in safety, or this is the last time we shall meet, for I never will return without her."

-449-- "Umph! eh? I'll go with you, Frank; I'll go with you."

"I would advise you not, sir," replied I; "it will be a fatiguing, if not _a dangerous_ expedition."

"Ain't I her uncle, sir? umph!" was the reply. "I tell you I will go.

Danger, indeed! why, boy, I've travelled more miles in my life, than you have inches."

"As you please, sir," replied I; "only let us lose no time." And taking his arm I hurried him away.

Glancing at Mr. Vernor as we left the library, I perceived that he still remained motionless in the same att.i.tude. As we reached the hall-door, I was glad to find that Peter's exertions had procured four stout horses, and that the finishing stroke was being put to their harness as we came up.

"Who is that?" inquired I, as my eye caught the figure of a horseman, followed by a second, apparently a groom, riding rapidly across the park.

"That's Mr. Fleming, sir," replied one of the helpers; "he came down to the stable, and ordered out his saddle-horses in a great hurry; I think he's gone after Mr. c.u.mberland."

"What are we waiting for?" exclaimed I, in an agony of impatience.

"Peter!--Where's Peter Barnett?"

"Here, sir," he exclaimed; making his appearance the moment after I had first observed his absence. "It ain't no use to start on a march without arms and baggage," he added, flinging a wrapping greatcoat (out of the pocket of which the b.u.t.ts of a large pair of cavalry pistols protruded) into the rumble, and climbing up after it.

"Now, sir," exclaimed I; and half-lifting, half-pushing Mr. Frampton into the carriage, I bounded in after him: the door was slammed to, and, with a sudden jerk, which must have tried the strength of the traces pretty thoroughly, the horses dashed forward, old Peter directing the postboys which road they were to follow. The rocking motion of the carriage (as, owing to the rapid pace at which we proceeded, it swung violently from side to side) prevented anything like conversation, while, for some time, a burning desire to get on seemed to paralyse my every faculty, and to render thought impossible. Trees, fields and hedges flew past in one interminable, bewildering, ever-moving panorama, while to my excited imagination we appeared to be standing still, although the horses had never slackened their speed from the moment we started, occasionally breaking into a gallop wherever the road would permit. After proceeding at this rate, as nearly as --450- I could reckon, about ten miles, old Peter's voice was heard shouting to the postboys, and we came to a sudden stop. "What is it?" inquired I eagerly; but Peter, without vouchsafing any answer, swung himself down from his seat, and ran a short distance up a narrow lane which turned off from the high road, stopped to pick up something, examined the ground narrowly, and then returned to the carriage, holding up in triumph the object he had found, which, as he came nearer, I recognised to be a silk handkerchief I had seen Clara wear.

"I didn't think my old eyes could have seen so quickly," was his observation as he approached; "we was almost over-running the scent, Muster Fairlegh; and then we should 'a been ruined--horse, fut, and artillery. Do you know what this is?"

"Clara's handkerchief! It was round her neck when I met her two days ago."

"Ay! bless her!" was the old man's reply. "And she's been clever enough to drop it where they turned off here, to let us know which way they have taken her. Lucky none of 'em didn't see her a-doin' it."

"How fortunate you observed it! And now where does this lane lead to?"

"Well, that's what puzzles me," returned Peter, rubbing his nose with an air of perplexity. "It don't lead to anything except old Joe Hardman's mill. But they're gone down here, that's certain sure, for there was that handkerchief, and there's the mark of wheels and 'osses' feet."

"Well, if it is certain they have gone that way," continued I, "let us lose no time in following them. How far off is this mill?"

"About a couple of miles out of the road, sir," replied one of the postboys.

"Get on then," said I; "but mind you do not lose the track of their wheels. It's plain enough on the gravel of the lane."

"All right, sir," was the reply; and we again dashed forward.

As we got farther from the high road, the ruts became so deep that we were obliged to proceed at a more moderate pace. After skirting a thick wood for some distance, we came suddenly upon a small bleak desolate-looking common, near the centre of which stood the mill, which appeared in a somewhat dilapidated condition. A little half-ruinous cottage, probably the habitation of the miller, lay to the right of the larger building; but no signs of --451- Carriage or horses were to be perceived, nor, indeed, anything which might indicate that the place was inhabited.

As we drew up at the gate of a farmyard, which formed the approach both to the mill and the house, Peter Barnett again got down, and having carefully examined the traces of the wheel-marks, observed, "they've been here, that I'll take my Bible oath on. The wheel-tracks go straight into the yard. But there's some fresh marks here I can't rightly make out. It looks as if a horse had galloped up to the gate and leaped hover it."

"Wilford!" exclaimed I, as a sudden idea came into my head. "We have not got to the truth of this matter yet, depend upon it. There is some collusion between Wilford and c.u.mberland."

"Umph! rascals!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. Frampton. "But 'they shall both hang for it, if it costs me every farthing I possess in the world."

"It's Mr Fleming's black mare as has been hover 'ere," said one of the postboys, who, I afterwards learned, was a stable-helper at Barstone, and had volunteered to drive in the sudden emergency. "I knows her marks from any hother 'orse's. She's got a bar-shoe on the near fore-foot."

"Is there n.o.body here to direct us?" asked I. "Let me out. Who is this miller, Peter?" I continued, as I sprang to the ground.

"Well, he's a queer one," was the reply. "n.o.body rightly knows what to make of him. He's no great good, I expects; but good or bad, we'll have him out."

So saying, he opened the gate, and going to the cottage-door, which was closed and fastened, commenced a vigorous a.s.sault upon it. For some time his exertions appeared productive of no result, and I began to imagine the cottage was untenanted.

"We are only wasting our time to no purpose," said I. "Let us endeavour to trace the wheel-marks, and continue our pursuit."

"I'm certain sure there's some one in the house," rejoined old Peter, after applying his ear to the keyhole; "I can hear 'em moving about."

"We'll soon see," replied I, looking round for some implement fitted for my purpose. In one corner lay a heap of wood, apparently part of an old paling. Selecting a stout post which had formed one of the uprights, I dashed it against the fastenings of the door with a degree of force which made lock and hinges rattle again. I was about to repeat the attack, when a gruff voice from within the house shouted, "Hold hard there, I'm a-coming," and -452-- in another minute the bolts were withdrawn, and the door opened.

"What do you mean by destroying a man's property in this manner?" was the salutation with which we were accosted.

The speaker was a short thick-set man, with brawny arms, and a head unnaturally large, embellished by a profusion of red hair, and a beard of at least a week's growth. The expression of his face, surly in the extreme, would have been decidedly bad, had it not been for a look of kindness in the eye, which in some degree redeemed it!

"What do you mean by allowing people to stand knocking at your door for five minutes, my friend, without taking any notice of them? You obliged us to use summary measures," replied I.

"Well, I wor a-laying on the bed when you c.u.m. I slipped down with a sack of flour this morning, and hit my head, so I thought I'd turn in and take a snooze, do you see;" and as he spoke he pointed to his face, one side of which I now perceived was black and swollen, as if from a blow.

"That's a lie, Joe! and you knows it," said Peter Barnett abruptly.

"You speaks pretty plainly at all events, Master Barnett," was the reply, but in a less surly tone than he had hitherto used.