Edgardo galloped rapidly towards Sloperton. When the outline of the Grange had faded away in the darkness, he reined his magnificent steed beside the ruins of Guy’s Keep.
“It wants but a few minutes of the hour,” he said, consulting his watch by the light of the moon. “He dare not break his word. He will come.” He paused, and peered anxiously into the darkness. “But come what may, she is mine,” he continued, as his thoughts reverted fondly to the fair lady he had quitted. “Yet if she knew all. If she knew that I am a disgraced and ruined man,—a felon and an outcast. If she knew that at the age of fourteen I murdered my Latin tutor and forged my uncle’s will. If she knew that I had three wives already, and that the fourth victim of misplaced confidence and my unfortunate peculiarity is expected to be at Sloperton by to-night’s train with her baby. But no; she must not know it. Constance must not arrive; Burke the Slogger must attend to that.
“Ha! here he is! Well?”
These words were addressed to a ruffian in a slouched hat, who suddenly appeared from Guy’s Keep.
“I he’s here, measter,” said the villain, with a disgracefully low accent and complete disregard of grammatical rules.
“It is well. Listen: I’m in possession of facts that will send you to the gallows. I know of the murder of Bill Smithers, the robbery of the tollgate-keeper, and the making away of the youngest daughter of Sir Reginald de Walton. A word from me, and the officers of justice are on your track.”
Burke the Slogger trembled.
“Hark ye! serve my purpose, and I may yet save you. The 5.30 train from Clapham will be due at Sloperton at 9.25. It must not arrive!”
The villain’s eyes sparkled as he nodded at Edgardo.
“Enough,—you understand; leave me!”
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