It was one of those positions which try a man to the uttermost; and it

was to Sir George's credit that, duped and defeated, astonishingly

tricked in the moment of success, and physically shaken by his fall, he

neither broke into execrations nor shod unmanly tears. He groaned, it is

true, and his arm pressed more heavily on the servant's shoulder, as he

listened and listened in vain for sign or so and of the runaways.

But he still commanded himself, and in face of how great a misfortune! A more

futile, a more wretched end to an expedition it was impossible to

conceive. The villains had out-paced, out-fought, and out-manoeuvred

him; and even now were rolling merrily on to Bath, while he, who a few

minutes before had held the game in his hands, lay belated here without

horses and without hope, in a wretched plight, his every moment

embittered by the thought of his mistress's fate.

In such crises--to give the devil his due--the lessons of the

gaming-table, dearly bought as they are, stand a man in stead. Sir

George's fancy pictured Julia a prisoner, trembling and dishevelled,

perhaps gagged and bound by the coarse hands of the brutes who had her

in their power; and the picture was one to drive a helpless man mad. Had

he dwelt on it long and done nothing it must have crazed him. But in his

life he had lost and won great sums at a coup, and learned to do the

one and the other with the same smile--it was the point of pride, the

form of his time and class. While Mr. Fishwick, therefore, wrung his

hands and lamented, and the servant swore, Sir George's heart bled

indeed, but it was silently and inwardly; and meanwhile he thought,

calculated the odds, and the distance to Bath and the distance to

Bristol, noted the time; and finally, and with sudden energy, called on

the men to be moving. 'We must get to Bath,' he said. 'We will be

upsides with the villains yet. But we must get to Bath. What horses

have we?' Mr. Fishwick, who up to this point had played his part like a man,

wailed that his horse was dead lame and could not stir a step. The

lawyer was sore, stiff, and beyond belief weary; and this last mishap,

this terrible buffet from the hand of Fortune, left him cowed and

spiritless.

'Horses or no horses, we must get to Bath,' Sir George answered

feverishly.

On this the servant made an attempt to drag Sir George's mount from the

ditch, but the poor beast would not budge, and in the darkness it was

impossible to discover whether it was wounded or not. Mr. Fishwick's was

dead lame; the man's had wandered away. It proved that there was nothing

for it but to walk. Dejectedly, the three took the road and trudged

wearily through the darkness. They would reach Bathford village, the man

believed, in a mile and a half.




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