At that moment a new face appeared in the doorway, that of a young lady of graceful figure, piquant visage, and very fine gray eyes. These eyes rested on Sir Hilary alone, thus missing Squire Bullcott, who, at first sight of the lady, flopped down on all fours behind the breakfast-table, a movement unnoticed while the general attention was on the newcomer.

"Why, Brother, so you are really here? Wilson saw you ride past the inn at Thatcham this morning, and we supposed you were coming to the Pelican to meet me; so I drove back after you."

"Give me a buss, Sis!" cried Sir Hilary, who had already grasped both her hands and shown every sign of joy. "'Fore gad, you came in good time! So 'tisn't you in the next room! A thousand pardons, Mr. Wetheral!

But what were you doing at Thatcham, Sis?"

"Why," replied Miss Englefield, "'tis a long story. At this inn, yesterday afternoon, a maid brought me a letter scrawled by Jenny Mullen, who used to serve at the Hall. It seems she is now attached to a gang of rogues that were hired to make trouble for me at this inn last night. So she warned me in secret to leave quietly. She begged me to say nothing to the landlord or the watch, lest her companions might be caught. So I went on and lay at Thatcham, and that is how Wilson happened to see you galloping hither this morning. Poor Jenny promised to keep the rascals drinking in the tap-room, so they should not learn of my departure, and she must have kept her promise."

"Thank the Lord, she must have!" said Sir Hilary. "But how the devil did they know you were going to lodge here last night?"

"Why, my girl, Sukey, confessed this morning that in Bath she made the acquaintance of a so-called captain, to whom she told the plan we had arranged for our journey. It seems from Jenny's letter that the rogues were to carry me off to a country-seat near Whitchurch in Hampshire; their employer--odious beast--was to lie last night at Hungerford, and follow to-day to Whitchurch."

"Zounds! You shall tell me all about it, Sis, on the way home, and we'll see what's to be done. Come away from this inn! It seems there's been the devil to pay here, in more matters than one. Good day, sir!" Sir Hilary thereupon led his sister quickly out, with barely a thought of the apparent absence of Squire Bullcott, who indeed might have slipped off while the baronet was engrossed with his sister.

The Squire now rose into view, very red and very much perturbed. He glanced first at his man and the landlord, who both had been keeping in the background during Miss Englefield's presence, then at d.i.c.k, who still guarded the bedchamber door.

"Then, since it ain't his sister, by G.o.d, it must be my wife!" whined Bullcott, who, like many another person capable of doing any wrong, was quick to whimper on supposing himself injured. "I'll expose her, I'll kill her, that will I! Landlord, send for constables! Oh, the faithless woman, and the vile seducer! To think a gentleman can't go off to attend to--a little business, but his wife must take a dirty, low advantage of his absence, to run off with a base-born rascal! Send for constables, landlord, to force a way into that room!"

"The landlord well knows," put in d.i.c.k, thinking of another ruse of Catherine de St. Valier's in Quebec, "that there is no lady in this room. Why, if a lady had been there, don't you suppose she'd have gone out long ago by the other door" (d.i.c.k remembered here that the other door was locked and the key in his own hand), "or by the window, from which even a woman could easily descend by the trellis to the garden?"

But the Squire continued to cry for constables, and d.i.c.k continued to detain the landlord by one remark and another. Keeping his ear on the alert, he presently heard the window in the bedchamber softly open, and he inferred that Amabel had taken his loud-spoken hint as he himself had once vainly accepted that of Catherine de St. Valier. By keeping his sword-point constantly in evidence, he deterred the Squire and the latter's man from a rush. The landlord, considering this guest was the friend of a lord, would take no step whatever, and Bullcott chose to keep his own man with him for protection, so there was none to summon the minions of the law.

At last d.i.c.k, fearing that Miss Thorpe might at any moment enter, and her presence certify to that of Amabel, said he had played with the Squire long enough, and would now let the latter scan the bedchamber from the threshold. d.i.c.k, confident that Amabel would have acted promptly at so important a crisis, supposed she had some time ago reached the garden, whence she might have gone to her own chamber. He therefore flung wide the door, and disclosed--Amabel in the centre of the chamber, and the squire's man, Curry, perched on the window-ledge, to which he had climbed by the trellis from the garden, whither Bullcott had sent him to watch the chamber window.

The Squire, almost black with rage, started towards the bedroom. d.i.c.k interposed in time to stay the burly figure's rush. The Squire stepped back and gathered strength for another effort, growling inarticulately.

"Well, sir," said d.i.c.k, with a.s.sumed resignation, "I see the jig is up.

The lady has refused to save me by flight. She remains, I see, as evidence against me. So, it seems, your wife was running away from you, Squire Bullcott? Well, I can't blame her, though I didn't know that when I took her into my room by force."

"By force?" gasped the Squire.

"How can I deny it, when the lady herself is here to accuse me?" said d.i.c.k. "You'll admit the temptation was strong,--my door open, the lady pa.s.sing in the corridor, no one in sight, a devil of a noise in the tap-room to drown her screams,--not to mention that I threatened to kill her if she cried out."

"But why the deuce didn't she cry out when she heard me in this room?"

queried Bullcott, partly addressing the silent Amabel.

"For the rather poor reason," answered d.i.c.k, "that in such a case, as I promised her when I heard you coming, I should have killed, not her, but you! And now, Squire, you see your wife's reputation remains untarnished; she is safe out of my hands, and if she can but make good her escape from yours, she ought to be happy."

"Escape from me? That won't she! She'd run away, would she? Well, now she'll run back, and stay back! D'ye hear, woman? Oh, some one shall pay for all this, that shall she! I'll show--"

But the Squire showed only a sudden pallor and shakiness, for again was heard in the corridor the wrathful voice of Sir Hilary Englefield, this time coupled with the excited tones of his sister, who was screaming out dissuasions.

"So 'twas you, Bullcott, hired the rogues to carry off my sister!"

roared the baronet, as he entered, whip in one hand, in the other a pistol. "I thank G.o.d she told me the name before I or you was out of the town! So you'd go to Whitchurch after her, would you? Well, you'll go, not after her, but alone; and not to Whitchurch, but to h.e.l.l; you filthy old chaser of women! And you shall go with a sore skin, moreover!"

Whereat the furious fox-hunter began to belabor the squire with the whip, all the witnesses giving him plenty of room. Bullcott bellowed, whimpered, and cowered, leading the agile baronet a chase around furniture and over it, deterred from a bolt by the presence of Miss Englefield's stout man-servant in the corridor doorway. Driven at last to bay, his face and hands covered with welts, the Squire made a desperate bound and grasped the whip, wrenched it from the baronet's hand, and raised it to strike. As the blow was falling, Sir Hilary fired the pistol. Bullcott fell, an inert ma.s.s.

Sir Hilary conferred hastily with d.i.c.k, then led away his sister, saw her and her servants started homeward, and took horse by the Winchester road for the seaport of Portsmouth. d.i.c.k silently led the dazed Amabel to her own chamber, whence she and Miss Thorpe departed quietly on their way to Oxfordshire while Bullcott's servants were busy with preparations for the care of the Squire's body. d.i.c.k then immediately packed up his and Lord George's portmanteaus, and took post-chaise for London as soon as Lord George and Wilkins returned to the inn, a large gratuity from d.i.c.k to the landlord enabling these four hasty departures to be made before the town authorities were notified of the killing. The post-chaise left Speenhamland in the track of Miss Englefield's coach and Miss Thorpe's, but did not overtake either, all three parties making the utmost speed. Their three ways diverged at Reading, where d.i.c.k and Lord George made a brief stop in the afternoon, to break their long fast.

"Egad," quoth Lord George, to whom d.i.c.k had recounted all the morning's incidents, "'twas a merry breakfast party we had at the Pelican in honor of Sir Hilary's arrival!"

d.i.c.k heaved a sigh, eloquent of more than one regret, and was silent.

CHAPTER XIII.

"UP AND DOWN IN LONDON TOWN."

The young gentlemen proceeded the same afternoon to Maidenhead, and pa.s.sed the night as guests of Pennyston Powney, Esquire, a friend of Lord George's, at his fine seat south of that place. The next day they proceeded slowly, in order to enjoy the beautiful prospects along the Thames; d.i.c.k marking his progress Londonward by each milestone, beginning at Maidenhead Bridge with the twenty-fifth.

In Buckinghamshire the road became more and more alive with coaches. At Slough, d.i.c.k would have liked to turn southward to Windsor Castle and Eton College, of which edifices he had enjoyed the splendid view from Salt Hill; or northward to Stoke Pogis churchyard, where Gray composed his Elegy and was buried; but his lordship desired to arrive in London that evening. So d.i.c.k was content with what glimpses he got of the high white Castle, along a good part of the road. Into Middles.e.x rolled the chaise, crossing Hounslow Heath and pa.s.sing there many sheep but no highwaymen; on by n.o.ble parks and residences, to Brentford, d.i.c.k feasting his eyes on what he could see of distant Richmond with its hill and terrace, and of Kew with its royal gardens and its favorite palace of George III., then reigning.

The numerous carriages, the stage-coaches with pa.s.sengers inside and on top, and the other signs of nearness to a great city, increased as they bowled through Turnham Green and Hammersmith, whence there were houses on both sides all the way to Kensington. A great smoky ma.s.s ahead had now resolved itself distinctly into towers, domes, and spires, and, for watching each feature as it separately disclosed itself, d.i.c.k well nigh missed the verdant charms of Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park, on the left. At last they were rattling along Piccadilly, pa.s.sing Green Park on the right, and getting a partial view of St. James's and the other ordinary-looking palaces in that direction. And presently, as Lord George wished his arrival in London to be for a day unknown, and as his house in Berkeley Square was occupied by his uncle's family, they turned through the Haymarket to Charing Cross, and thence into the Strand, where they were finally set down at the White Hart Inn, near the new church of St. Mary-le-Strand and the site of the bygone May-pole.

After supper, while his lordship kept indoors, d.i.c.k went out sightseeing; strode blithely up the lamp-lit Strand, with its countless shops lettered all over with tradesmen's signs; through Temple Bar, and along Fleet Street, with its taverns, coffee-houses, courts, and tributary streets; up Ludgate Hill to St. Paul's, which he walked around; returning over his route, and then making a shorter excursion, to see the theatres of Drury Lane and Covent Garden; all this with no adventure that need here be related.

The next day, his lordship took fine lodgings in Bond Street, near Hanover Square, and insisted that d.i.c.k remain his guest until the latter should hear from c.u.mberland,--d.i.c.k allowing his lordship to remain under the belief that the c.u.mberland from which he came was of England, and that he had been a great loser of valuables and money by the supposed defection of his servant at the time he was left for dead in the road.

d.i.c.k's second evening in London was pa.s.sed at Covent Garden Theatre, where he saw, and was dazzled by, "The Duenna," that brilliant comic opera of serenading lovers in Seville, by the clever young Mr. Sheridan, which, first brought out in the previous November, was still the most popular piece in the company's list. The next day, Sunday, going for that purpose to the church of St. Clement Danes, d.i.c.k saw the great and bulky Doctor Johnson himself, and was duly impressed.

On Monday he took what he had left of his Bath winnings to a tailor's shop, and spent the greater part of them for a new black suit for full dress; and that evening he went with Lord George to a ridotto, in the vicinity of St. James's, Lord George having previously got tickets.

Not choosing to venture in a minuet, d.i.c.k imitated many of the impudent young beaux of the splendid company, walking through the gaily decorated room, and staring unreservedly at whatever lady's face, beneath its cushioned tower of powdered hair, attracted him. By the time the country-dances had begun, he had made up his mind which one of all the faces most rivalled the blazing candle-lights themselves. Its possessor was young, tall, well filled out, and of a dashing and frivolous countenance. Having learned by observation that the custom in London differed not from that in Bath, d.i.c.k went confidently up and begged to have the honor of dancing with her.

She flashed on him a quick, all-comprehensive look of scrutiny, then bowed with a gracious smile, and gave him her hand. During the dance, d.i.c.k made use of every possible occasion to comment jocularly upon pa.s.sing incidents and persons, and the lady invariably answered with a smile or a merry remark, so that d.i.c.k was soon vastly pleased with his partner and himself.

After the dance, having led her to a seat, and as she would have no refreshments brought, he stood chatting with her. Lord George came up and greeted both, and continued talking to them familiarly, a.s.suming, from the fact of her having granted d.i.c.k a dance in a public a.s.sembly, that they already knew each other. In the course of the talk, Lord George frequently addressed d.i.c.k by his name, and the lady by hers, so that, before long, Mr. Wetheral and Miss Mallby were so addressing one another. It developed, through Lord George's inquiries after her family, that her father was Sir Charles Mallby, of Kent, whose town house was in Grosvenor Square.

While the three were talking, d.i.c.k noticed an elegantly dressed young gentleman standing near, who regarded them with a peculiarly sullen expression.

"Why does that gentleman look at us so sourly?" asked d.i.c.k, innocently, of Lord George.

"La!" said Miss Mallby, smiling, and coloring. "Tis Lord Alderby."

Lord George smiled, and proposed that d.i.c.k should come with him to meet somebody or other; whereupon the two gentlemen, one of them very reluctantly, left Miss Mallby, who was then immediately joined by the surly-looking Lord Alderby.

"They've had a lovers' quarrel," explained Lord George to d.i.c.k, "which accounts for her comporting herself so amiably to us. Her gaiety with other gentlemen this evening has turned Alderby quite green with jealousy. Now that we have left the way open for him, he'll humiliate himself as abjectly as he must, for a reconciliation. Egad, what a thing it is to be the slave of an heiress!"

"Why," said d.i.c.k, his spirits suddenly damped, "I flattered myself her amiability to me was on my own account."

"Oh," said his lordship, with an amused look that escaped d.i.c.k, "so that's how the wind blows! Well, who knows but you are right? She may have tired of Alderby's sulks. 'Tis a rich prize, by Jove,--the Lord knows how many thousand a year! We shall certainly call at Grosvenor Square to-morrow."

What young man can honestly blame d.i.c.k for clinging to the belief that the radiant Miss Mallby's graciousness to him had another cause than the wish to pique Lord Alderby; or for supposing himself equal to the role of a lord's rival for the love of a great heiress? The romantic notion that love levels all, was no new one in d.i.c.k's time, and had often been exemplified. To win fortune by marriage was then held to be an entirely honorable act, calling for no reproach. d.i.c.k had no intention of deceiving the lady. But he would wait until her love was certainly his, before disclosing who and what he was. Once his, her love would not be altered by the unimportant circ.u.mstances that he was an American and penniless. Splendid was the future of which d.i.c.k dreamed that night,--a future of fair estates and great city residences, of coaches and footmen, of fine clothes, card playing, music, and dancing.

He went with Lord George in the latter's coach, the next afternoon, to the Grosvenor Square house; was graciously received by Miss Mallby's mother, on his lordship's account; met a great number of young beaux and a few modish ladies, drank tea, won some money at one of the card tables, and departed with his friend, having had very little of the heiress's society to himself.