Buoyed up by this he tried to picture the scene; the lonely road, the

carriage, the shrieking girl, the ruffians looking fearfully up and down

as they strove to silence her; and himself running to the rescue; as Mr.

Burchell ran with the big stick, in Mr. Goldsmith's novel, which he had

read a few months before. Then the struggle. He saw himself

knocked--well, pushed down; after all, with care, he might play a fine

part without much risk. The men might fly either at sight of him, or

when he drew nearer and added his shouts to the girl's cries; or--or

some one else might come up, by chance or summoned by the uproar! In a

minute it would be over; in a minute--and what a rich reward he

might reap.

Nevertheless he did not feel sure he would be able to do it. His heart

thumped, and his smile grew sickly, and he passed his tongue again and

again over his dry lips, as he thought of the venture. But do it or not

when the time came, he would at least give himself the chance. He would

attend the girl wherever she went, dog her, watch her, hang on her

skirts; so, if the thing happened, he would be at hand, and if he had

the courage, would save her.

'It should--it should stand me in a thousand!' he muttered, wiping his

damp brow, 'and that would put me on my legs.' He put her gratitude at that; and it was a great sum, a rich bribe. He

thought of the money lovingly, and of the feat with trembling, and took

his hat and unlocked his door and went downstairs. He spied about him

cautiously until he learned that Mr. Dunborough had departed; then he

went boldly to the stables, and inquired and found that the gentleman

had started for Bristol in a post-chaise. 'In a middling black temper,'

the ostler added, 'saving your reverence's presence.' That ascertained, the tutor needed no more. He knew that Dunborough, on

his way to foreign service, had lain ten days in Bristol, whistling for

a wind; that he had landed there also on his return, and made--on his

own authority--some queer friends there. Bristol, too, was the port for

the plantations; a slave-mart under the rose, with the roughest of all

the English seatown populations. There were houses at Bristol where

crimping was the least of the crimes committed; in the docks, where the

great ships, laden with sugar and tobacco, sailed in and out in their

seasons, lay sloops and skippers, ready to carry all comers, criminal

and victim alike, beyond the reach of the law. The very name gave Mr.

Thomasson pause; he could have done with Gretna--which Lord Hardwicke's

Marriage Act had lately raised to importance--or Berwick, or Harwich, or

Dover. But Bristol had a grisly sound. From Marlborough it lay no more

than forty miles away by the Chippenham and Marshfield road; a

post-chaise and four stout horses might cover the distance in

four hours.




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