Sergeant Cuff was just as quick on his side. He put Samuel back, and
stood before Miss Rachel, with the open carriage-door in his hand, at
the instant when she settled herself in her place.
"What do you want?" says Miss Rachel, from behind her veil.
"I want to say one word to you, miss," answered the Sergeant, "before
you go. I can't presume to stop your paying a visit to your aunt. I can
only venture to say that your leaving us, as things are now, puts an
obstacle in the way of my recovering your Diamond. Please to understand
that; and now decide for yourself whether you go or stay."
Miss Rachel never even answered him. "Drive on, James!" she called out
to the coachman.
Without another word, the Sergeant shut the carriage-door. Just as he
closed it, Mr. Franklin came running down the steps. "Good-bye, Rachel,"
he said, holding out his hand.
"Drive on!" cried Miss Rachel, louder than ever, and taking no more
notice of Mr. Franklin than she had taken of Sergeant Cuff.
Mr. Franklin stepped back thunderstruck, as well he might be. The
coachman, not knowing what to do, looked towards my lady, still standing
immovable on the top step. My lady, with anger and sorrow and shame all
struggling together in her face, made him a sign to start the horses,
and then turned back hastily into the house. Mr. Franklin, recovering
the use of his speech, called after her, as the carriage drove off,
"Aunt! you were quite right. Accept my thanks for all your kindness--and
let me go."
My lady turned as though to speak to him. Then, as if distrusting
herself, waved her hand kindly. "Let me see you, before you leave us,
Franklin," she said, in a broken voice--and went on to her own room.
"Do me a last favour, Betteredge," says Mr. Franklin, turning to me,
with the tears in his eyes. "Get me away to the train as soon as you
can!"
He too went his way into the house. For the moment, Miss Rachel had
completely unmanned him. Judge from that, how fond he must have been of
her!
Sergeant Cuff and I were left face to face, at the bottom of the
steps. The Sergeant stood with his face set towards a gap in the trees,
commanding a view of one of the windings of the drive which led from the
house. He had his hands in his pockets, and he was softly whistling "The
Last Rose of Summer" to himself.
"There's a time for everything," I said savagely enough. "This isn't a
time for whistling."
At that moment, the carriage appeared in the distance, through the gap,
on its way to the lodge-gate. There was another man, besides Samuel,
plainly visible in the rumble behind.