his'll do summat? Sartin _she will_. If my eyes don't cheat me, the girl's mad after Sir Henry--mad as a she hare in March time.

"I'll go to Dancey's this very minnit. I've another errand in that same direction; an' I kin kill two birds with the one stooan. Cuss the whey-faced loon Walford! If I doant larrup him, as long as I can find a hard spot inside his ugly skin. Augh!"

And winding up his soliloquy with the aspirated exclamation, he re-entered the house--as if to prepare for his proposed visit to the cottage of Dancey.

Although he had promised himself to start on the instant, it was a good half hour before he took his departure from Stone Dean. The larder lay temptingly open--as also the wine-cellar; and although the captors of Henry Holtspur had foraged freely upon both, the short time allowed them for ransacking had prevented their making a clear sweep of the shelves.

The ex-footpad, therefore, found sufficient food left to furnish him with a tolerable breakfast, and wine enough to wash it down.

In addition to the time spent in appeasing his appet.i.te, there was another affair that occupied some twenty minutes longer. In his master's bedroom--and other apartments that had not been entered by the cuira.s.siers--there by a number of valuable articles of a portable kind.

These, that might also be said to be now ownerless, were of course no longer safe--even within the house. Any thief might enter, and carry them away under his cloak.

The man, who made this reflection, was not one to leave such chattels unsecured; and procuring a large bag, he thrust into it, silver cups, and candlesticks, with several other costly articles of _luxe_, dress, and armour--one upon top of the other--until the sack was filled to the mouth. Hoisting it on his shoulders, he marched out of the house; and, after carrying the spoil to some distance among the shrubbery, he selected for it a place of concealment.

As this was an act in which the _ci-devant_ footpad was an adept, he bestowed the property in such a manner, that the sharpest eye might have pa.s.sed within six feet without perceiving it.

It is not justice to Gregory to say that he was _stealing_ this treasure. He was merely secreting it, against the return of its owner.

But it would be equally untrue to a.s.sert, that, while hiding the bag among the bushes, his mind did not give way to some vague speculation as to the chances of a _reversion_.

Perhaps it occurred to him that in the event of Holtspur never returning to Stone Dean,--or never being again seen by him, Garth--the contents of that sack would be some compensation for the loss of his beloved master.

Certainly some such thought flitted vaguely through his brain at the moment; though it could not have taken the shape of a wish: for in the very next instant he took his departure from Stone Dean--eagerly bent on an errand, which, if successful, would annihilate all hope of that vaguely contemplated reversion.

As may be surmised from his soliloquised speeches, his route lay direct to the dwelling of d.i.c.k Dancey; and in due time he arrived within sight of this humble abode.

Before coming out into the slight clearing that surrounded it, he observed some one staggering off upon the opposite side. He only caught a glimpse of this person--who in the next instant disappeared among the trees--but in that glimpse Garth identified the individual. It was the woodman Walford--who, from the way he was tracking it, appeared to be in a state of intoxication.

Garth comprehending the cause, came easily to this conclusion: and making no further pause--except to ascertain that the woodman was continuing his serpentine promenade--pa.s.sed on towards the cottage.

He had made a correct guess as to Walford's condition: for at that moment the woodman was perhaps as drunk as he had ever been in is life.

How he came to get into this state will be made clear, by giving in brief detail some incidents that had transpired since his departure from Stone Dean--in which he and his coadjutor Dancey had been the chief actors.

It was still only the earliest dawn of morning when the brace of worthies, returning home after their night's stable work, entered under the shadows of Wapsey's Wood; but there was light enough to show that the steps of neither were as steady as they should have been. Both kept repeatedly stumbling against the trees; and once Walford went head foremost into a pool of muddy water--from which he emerged with his foul complexion still fouler in appearance.

The rain, which had rendered the path slippery, might have accounted for this unsteadiness in the steps of the two foresters. But there was also observable in their speech an obliquity, which could not have been caused by the rain, but was clearly the consequence of exposure to a more potent fluid.

Dancey conversed glibly and gleefully--interlarding his speech with an occasional spell of chuckling laughter. He had come away perfectly satisfied with the proceedings of the night; the proceeds of which--a fistful of silver--he repeatedly pulled out of his pocket, and held up to the dim light--tossing it about to a.s.sure himself that it was the real coin of the realm that c.h.i.n.ked between his fingers.

Walford's palm seemed not to have been so liberally "greased;" but for all that he was also in high spirits. Something besides his perquisites had put him in a good humour with himself; though he did not impart the secret of this something to his companion. It was not altogether the contents of the stone jar which he had abstracted from the cellars of Stone Dean; though it might have been this that was causing him to talk so thickly, and stumble so frequently upon the path.

There was a stimulant to his joy more exciting than the spirit he had imbibed out of the bottle. It was the prospect of proximate ruin to the man, whose bread he had been just eating, and whose beer he had been drinking.

It was by no means clear to him how this ruin would be brought about.

His new patron had not given him so much as a hint of the use he intended making of that night's work. But, dull as was the brain of the brute Walford, he knew that something would follow likely to rid him of his rival; and this, too, without any further risk, or exertion, on his part. Both the danger and the trouble of avenging himself--for he felt vengeful towards Holtspur--were not only taken out of his hands, but he was also promised a handsome reward for his easy and willing service.

This was the real cause of his secret glee: at the moment heightened by the repeated potations in which he had been indulging.

On arriving at the cottage of his companion, it was not to be expected that Walford, in this state of feeling, would pa.s.s without looking in.

Nor was Dancey in the mind to let him pa.s.s: for it so chanced that the jar of _Hollands_, which the younger woodman had abstracted from the cellars of Stone Dean, was carried under the skirt of his doublet, and Dancey knew that it was not yet empty.

The challenge of the old deer-stealer, to enter his cottage and finish the gin, was readily responded to by his _confrere_; and both, staggering inside the hut, flung themselves into a couple of rush-bottomed chairs. Walford, uncorking the "grey beard," placed it upon the table; and, tin cups having been procured, the two woodmen continued the carouse, which their homeward scramble had interrupted.

It had now got to be daylight; and the beautiful Betsey, who had been astir long before sunrise, was summoned to attend upon them.

Neither cared for eating. The larder of Stone Dean had spoiled the appet.i.tes of both; while its cellar had only sharpened their craving for drink.

At first Walford scarce regarded the chill reception extended to him by the daughter of his host. He was too much elated at the prospect--of being soon disembarra.s.sed of his dreaded rival--to pay attention to the frowns of his mistress. At that moment he believed himself in a fair way of becoming master of the situation.

By little and little, however, his jealous misgivings began to rise into the ascendant--mastering even the potent spirit of the juniper.

A movement which Bet had made towards the door--where she stood looking wistfully out, as if expecting some one--forcibly arrested Walford's attention; and, notwithstanding the presumed restraint of her father's presence, he broke out in a strain of resentful recrimination.

"Da-ang thee!" he exclaimed, angrily blurting out the phrase, "Thee be a' stannin' in that door for no good. I wonder thee allows it, d.i.c.k Dancey?"

"Eh! lad--hic-hic-ough!--what is't, Wull? Say Bets'! what ha' ye-- hic-hic-ough--eh?"

"She be danged! An' thee be a old fool, d.i.c.k--to let her go on so wi'

that fellow."

"Eh, Wull? Wha' fella--who ye meean, lad?--hic-cuff!"

"_She_ know who I mean--she know well enough, wi' all her innocent looks. Ha! He'll make a--of her, if he han't did it a'ready."

"Father! will you listen to this language?" cried Bet, turning in from the door, and appealing to her natural protector against the vile term which her drunken suitor had applied to her. "It isn't the first time he has called me by that name. Oh, father! don't let him say it again!"

"Your father 'll find out some day that it be only the truth," muttered Walford doggedly.

"Troos!" repeated Dancey, with a maudlin stare, "Troos--what is't, lad?--what is't, Betsey, gurl?"

"He called me a --," answered the girl, reluctantly repeating the opprobrious epithet.

"He did! called you a --, Betsey? If he called ye th'-th'-that, I'll sm-a-a-ash him into f.a.ggots!"

As the woodman uttered this characteristic threat, he attempted to raise himself into an upright att.i.tude--apparently with the intention of carrying it into execution.

The attempt proved a failure; for, after half-regaining his legs, the intoxicated deer-stealer sank back into his chair--the "rungs" of which bent and cracked under his ponderous weight, as if about to part company with each other.

"Ee-s!" tauntingly continued the accuser, gaining confidence by the helplessness of Old d.i.c.k--otherwise dreaded by him. "Thee deserves to be called it! Thee be all I say--a--"

"You hear him, father? He has said it again!"

"Said what--what, Bets, gurl?"

"That I'm a--"

And Betsey once more repeated the offensive word, this time p.r.o.nouncing it with fuller emphasis.

The second appeal called forth a more energetic response. This time Dancey's attempt to get upon his feet was more successful.

Balancing himself against the back of his great arm-chair, he cried out:--