“Is it possible,” said Emma, with some indignation, “that you who have seen these men committing the outrages you have told us of, and who have fallen into their hands, like us, can exult in their cruelties!”
“Personal considerations, miss,” rejoined Miggs, “sinks into nothing, afore a noble cause. Ally Looyer! Ally Looyer! Ally Looyer, good gentlemen!”
It seemed from the shrill pertinacity with which Miss Miggs repeated this form of acclamation, that she was calling the same through the keyhole of the door; but in the profound darkness she could not be seen.
“If the time has come—Heaven knows it may come at any moment—when they are bent on prosecuting the designs, whatever they may be, with which they have brought us here, can you still encourage, and take part with them?” demanded Emma.
“I thank my goodness-gracious-blessed-stars I can, miss,” returned Miggs, with increased energy. —'Ally Looyer, good gentlemen!”
Even Dolly, cast down and disappointed as she was, revived at this, and bade Miggs hold her tongue directly.
“WHICH, was you pleased to observe, Miss Varden?” said Miggs, with a strong emphasis on the irrelative pronoun.
Dolly repeated her request.
“Ho, gracious me!” cried Miggs, with hysterical derision. “Ho, gracious me! Yes, to be sure I will. Ho yes! I am a abject slave, and a toiling, moiling, constant-working, always-beingfound-fault-with, never-giving-satisfactions, nor-having-notime-to-clean-oneself, potter's wessel—an't I, miss! Ho yes! My situations is lowly, and my capacities is limited, and my duties is to humble myself afore the base degenerating daughters of their blessed mothers as is—fit to keep companies with holy saints but is born to persecutions from wicked relations—and to demean myself before them as is no better than Infidels—an't it, miss! Ho yes! My only becoming occupations is to help young flaunting pagins to brush and comb and titiwate theirselves into whitening and suppulchres, and leave the young men to think that there an't a bit of padding in it nor no pinching ins nor fillings out nor pomatums nor deceits nor earthly wanities—an't it, miss! Yes, to be sure it is—ho yes!”
Having delivered these ironical passages with a most wonderful volubility, and with a shrillness perfectly deafening (especially when she jerked out the interjections), Miss Miggs, from mere habit, and not because weeping was at all appropriate to the occasion, which was one of triumph, concluded by bursting into a flood of tears, and calling in an impassioned manner on the name of Simmuns.
What Emma Haredale and Dolly would have done, or how long Miss Miggs, now that she had hoisted her true colours, would have gone on waving them before their astonished senses, it is impossible to tell. Nor is it necessary to speculate on these matters, for a startling interruption occurred at that moment, which took their whole attention by storm.
This was a violent knocking at the door of the house, and then its sudden bursting open; which was immediately succeeded by a scuffle in the room without, and the clash of weapons. Transported with the hope that rescue had at length arrived, Emma and Dolly shrieked aloud for help; nor were their shrieks unanswered; for after a hurried interval, a man, bearing in one hand a drawn sword, and in the other a taper, rushed into the chamber where they were confined.
It was some check upon their transport to find in this person an entire stranger, but they appealed to him, nevertheless, and besought him, in impassioned language, to restore them to their friends.
“For what other purpose am I here?” he answered, closing the door, and standing with his back against it. “With what object have I made my way to this place, through difficulty and danger, but to preserve you?”
With a joy for which it was impossible to find adequate expression, they embraced each other, and thanked Heaven for this most timely aid. Their deliverer stepped forward for a moment to put the light upon the table, and immediately returning to his former position against the door, bared his head, and looked on smilingly.
“You have news of my uncle, sir?” said Emma, turning hastily towards him.
“And of my father and mother?” added Dolly.
“Yes,” he said. “Good news.”
“They are alive and unhurt?” they both cried at once.
“Yes, and unhurt,” he rejoined.
“And close at hand?”
“I did not say close at hand,” he answered smoothly; “they are at no great distance. YOUR friends, sweet one,” he added, addressing Dolly, “are within a few hours” journey. You will be restored to them, I hope, to-night.”
“My uncle, sir—” faltered Emma.
“Your uncle, dear Miss Haredale, happily—I say happily, because he has succeeded where many of our creed have failed, and is safe—has crossed the sea, and is out of Britain.”
“I thank God for it,” said Emma, faintly.
“You say well. You have reason to be thankfuclass="underline" greater reason than it is possible for you, who have seen but one night of these cruel outrages, to imagine.”
“Does he desire,” said Emma, “that I should follow him?”
“Do you ask if he desires it?” cried the stranger in surprise. “IF he desires it! But you do not know the danger of remaining in England, the difficulty of escape, or the price hundreds would pay to secure the means, when you make that inquiry. Pardon me. I had forgotten that you could not, being prisoner here.”
“I gather, sir,” said Emma, after a moment's pause, “from what you hint at, but fear to tell me, that I have witnessed but the beginning, and the least, of the violence to which we are exposed, and that it has not yet slackened in its fury?”
He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, lifted up his hands; and with the same smooth smile, which was not a pleasant one to see, cast his eyes upon the ground, and remained silent.
“You may venture, sir, to speak plain,” said Emma, “and to tell me the worst. We have undergone some preparation for it.”
But here Dolly interposed, and entreated her not to hear the worst, but the best; and besought the gentleman to tell them the best, and to keep the remainder of his news until they were safe among their friends again.
“It is told in three words,” he said, glancing at the locksmith's daughter with a look of some displeasure. “The people have risen, to a man, against us; the streets are filled with soldiers, who support them and do their bidding. We have no protection but from above, and no safety but in flight; and that is a poor resource; for we are watched on every hand, and detained here, both by force and fraud. Miss Haredale, I cannot bear—believe me, that I cannot bear—by speaking of myself, or what I have done, or am prepared to do, to seem to vaunt my services before you. But, having powerful Protestant connections, and having my whole wealth embarked with theirs in shipping and commerce, I happily possessed the means of saving your uncle. I have the means of saving you; and in redemption of my sacred promise, made to him, I am here; pledged not to leave you until I have placed you in his arms. The treachery or penitence of one of the men about you, led to the discovery of your place of confinement; and that I have forced my way here, sword in hand, you see.”
“You bring,” said Emma, faltering, “some note or token from my uncle?”
“No, he doesn't,” cried Dolly, pointing at him earnestly; “now I am sure he doesn't. Don't go with him for the world!”
“Hush, pretty fool—be silent,” he replied, frowning angrily upon her. “No, Miss Haredale, I have no letter, nor any token of any kind; for while I sympathise with you, and such as you, on whom misfortune so heavy and so undeserved has fallen, I value my life. I carry, therefore, no writing which, found upon me, would lead to its certain loss. I never thought of bringing any other token, nor did Mr Haredale think of entrusting me with one—possibly because he had good experience of my faith and honesty, and owed his life to me.”