Roland Yorke was persuaded to retire. He
went as far as the back of the room, and there indulged in
under-currents of wrath, touching injustice and Mr. Butterby, to a
select circle who gathered round him. Warm-hearted and generous, by
fits and starts, was Roland Yorke; he had inherited it with his Irish
blood from Lady Augusta.
But meanwhile, where was Mr. Galloway? He did not make his appearance,
and it was said he could not be found. Messenger after messenger was
despatched to his office, to his house; and at length Mr. Butterby went
himself. All in vain; his servants knew nothing about him. Jenkins, who
had the office to himself, thought he must be "somewhere in the town,"
as he had not said he was going out of it. Mr. Butterby went back
crest-fallen, and confessed that, not to take up longer the time of
their worships unnecessarily, the case must be remanded to the morrow.
"We will take bail," said the magistrates, before the application was
made. "One surety will be sufficient; fifty pounds."
At that, Mr. Roland, who by this time was standing in a sullen manner
against a pillar of the court, his violence gone, and biting his nails
moodily, made a rush to the front again, heeding little who he knocked
down in the process. "I'll be bail," he cried eagerly. "That is, Lady
Augusta will--as I am not a householder. I'll hunt her up and bring her
here."
He was turning in impetuous haste to "hunt up" Lady Augusta, when
Hamish Channing imperatively waved to him to be still, and spoke to the
bench.
Pages:
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295