'I think not, your honour,' the man answered. 'I believe they are
staying.' With a word of satisfaction Mr. Pomeroy hurried his unwilling companion
towards the inn. The streets were dark; only an oil lamp or two burned
at distant points. But the darkness of the town was noon-day light in
comparison of the gloom which reigned in Mr. Thomasson's mind. In the
grasp of this headstrong man, whose temper rendered him blind to
obstacles and heedless of danger, the tutor felt himself swept along,
as incapable of resistance as the leaf that is borne upon the stream. It
was not until they turned into the open space before the Angel, and
perceived a light in the doorway of the inn that despair gave him
courage to remonstrate.
Then the risk and folly of the course they were pursuing struck him so
forcibly that he grew frantic. He clutched Mr. Pomeroy's sleeve, and
dragging him aside out of earshot of Tamplin, who was following them,
'This is madness!' he urged vehemently. 'Sheer madness! Have you
considered, Mr. Pomeroy? If she is here, what claim have we to interfere
with her? What authority over her? What title to force her away? If we
had overtaken her on the road, in the country, it might have been one
thing. But here--' 'Here?' Mr. Pomeroy retorted, his face dark, his under-jaw thrust out
hard as a rock. 'And why not here?' 'Because--why, because she will appeal to the people.' 'What people?' 'The people who have brought her hither.' 'And what is their right to her?' Mr. Pomeroy retorted, with a brutal
oath.
'The people at the inn, then.' 'Well, and what is their right? But--I see your point, parson! Damme,
you are a cunning one. I had not thought of that. She'll appeal to them,
will she? Then she shall be my sister, run off from her home! Ha! Ha! Or
no, my lad,' he continued, chuckling savagely, and slapping the tutor on
the back; 'they know me here, and that I have no sister. She shall be
your daughter!' And while Mr. Thomasson stared aghast, Pomeroy laughed
recklessly. 'She shall be your daughter, man! My guest, and run off with
an Irish ensign! Oh, by Gad, we'll nick her! Come on!' Mr. Thomasson shuddered. It seemed to him the wildest scheme--a folly
beyond speech. Resisting the hand with which Pomeroy would have impelled
him towards the lighted doorway, 'I will have nothing to do with it!' he
cried, with all the firmness he could muster. 'Nothing! Nothing!' 'A minute ago you might have gone to the devil!' Mr. Pomeroy answered
grimly, 'and welcome! Now, I want you. And, by heaven, if you don't
stand by me I'll break your back! Who is there here who is likely to
know you? Or what have you to fear?' 'She'll expose us!' Mr. Thomasson whimpered. 'She'll tell them!' 'Who'll believe her?' the other answered with supreme contempt. 'Which
is the more credible story--hers about a lost heir, or ours? Come on,
I say!' Mr. Thomasson had been far from anticipating a risk of this kind when he
entered on his career of scheming. But he stood in mortal terror of his
companion, whose reckless passions were fully aroused; and after a brief
resistance he succumbed. Still protesting, he allowed himself to be
urged past the open doors of the inn-yard--in the black depths of which
the gleam of a lanthorn, and the form of a man moving to and fro,
indicated that the strangers' horses were not yet bedded--and up the
hospitable steps of the Angel Inn.