H GAUNT; OR, JEALOUSY.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
The bill was paid; the black horse saddled and brought round to the
door. Mr. and Mrs. Vint stood bare-headed to honor the parting guest;
and the latter offered him the stirrup-cup.
Griffith looked round for Mercy. She was nowhere to be seen.
Then he said, piteously, to Mrs. Vint, "What, not even bid me good by?"
Mrs. Vint replied, in a very low voice, that there was no disrespect
intended. "The truth is, sir, she could not trust herself to see you go;
but she bade me give you a message. Says she, 'Mother, tell him I pray
God to bless him, go where he will.'"
Something rose in Griffith's throat "O Dame!" said he, "if she only knew
the truth, she would think better of me than she does. God bless her!"
And he rode sorrowfully away, alone in the world once more.
At the first turn in the road, he wheeled his horse, and took a last
lingering look.
There was nothing vulgar, nor inn-like, in the "Packhorse." It stood
fifty yards from the road, on a little rural green, and was picturesque
itself. The front was entirely clad with large-leaved ivy. Shutters
there were none: the windows, with their diamond panes, were lustrous
squares, set like great eyes in the green ivy. It looked a pretty,
peaceful retreat, and in it Griffith had found peace and a dove-like
friend.
He sighed, and rode away from the sight; not raging and convulsed, as
when he rode from Hernshaw Castle, but somewhat sick at heart, and very
heavy.
He paced so slowly that it took him a quarter of an hour to reach the
"Woodman,"--a wayside inn, not two miles distant. As he went by, a
farmer hailed him from the porch, and insisted on drinking with him; for
he was very popular in the neighborhood. Whilst they were thus employed,
who should come out but Paul Carrick, booted and spurred, and flushed in
the face, and rather the worse for liquor imbibed on the spot.
"So you are going, are ye?" said he. "A good job, too." Then, turning to
the other, "Master Gutteridge, never you save a man's life, if you can
anyways help it. I saved this one's; and what does he do but turn round
and poison my sweetheart against me?"
"How can you say so?" remonstrated Griffith. "I never belied you. Your
name scarce ever passed my lips."
"Don't tell me," said Carrick. "However, she has come to her senses, and
given your worship the sack. Ride you into Cumberland, and I to the
'Packhorse,' and take my own again."
With
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