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gentleman says very true。 Your life may hang upon it。’
‘Are you；’ said Mr Haredale abruptly； ‘afraid to come with me？’
‘I； sir？—N…n…no。’
‘Put that riband in your hat。 If we meet the rioters； swear that I
took you prisoner for wearing it。 I will tell them so with my own
lips； for as I hope for mercy when I die； I will take no quarter from
them； nor shall they have quarter from me； if we come hand to
hand to…night。 Up here—behind me—quick！ Clasp me tight round
the body； and fear nothing。’
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In an instant they were riding away； at full gallop； in a dense
cloud of dust； and speeding on； like hunters in a dream。
It was well the good horse knew the road he traversed； for
never once—no； never once in all the journey—did Mr Haredale
cast his eyes upon the ground； or turn them； for an instant； from
the light towards which they sped so madly。 Once he said in a low
voice； ‘It is my house；’ but that was the only time he spoke。 When
they came to dark and doubtful places； he never forgot to put his
hand upon the little man to hold him more securely in his seat； but
he kept his head erect and his eyes fixed on the fire； then； and
always。
The road was dangerous enough； for they went the nearest
way—headlong—far from the highway—by lonely lanes and paths；
where waggon…wheels had worn deep ruts； where hedge and ditch
hemmed in the narrow strip of ground； and tall trees； arching
overhead； made it profoundly dark。 But on； on； on； with neither
stop nor stumble； till they reached the Maypole door； and could
plainly see that the fire began to fade； as if for want of fuel。
‘Down—for one moment—for but one moment；’ said Mr
Haredale； helping Daisy to the ground； and following himself。
‘Willet—Willet—where are my niece and servants—Willet！’
Crying to him distractedly； he rushed into the bar。—The
landlord bound and fastened to his chair； the place dismantled；
stripped； and pulled about his ears；—nobody could have taken
shelter here。
He was a strong man； accustomed to restrain himself； and
suppress his strong emotions； but this preparation for what was to
follow—though he had seen that fire burning； and knew that his
house must be razed to the ground—was more than he could bear。
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He covered his face with his hands for a moment； and turned away
his head。
‘Johnny； Johnny；’ said Solomon—and the simple…hearted fellow
cried outright； and wrung his hands—‘Oh dear old Johnny； here’s
a change！ That the Maypole bar should come to this； and we
should live to see it！ The old Warren too； Johnny—Mr Haredale—
oh； Johnny； what a piteous sight this is！’
Pointing to Mr Haredale as he said these words； little Solomon
Daisy put his elbows on the back of Mr Willet’s chair； and fairly
blubbered on his shoulder。
While Solomon was speaking； old John sat； mute as a stock…fish；
staring at him with an unearthly glare； and displaying； by every
possible symptom； entire and complete unconsciousness。 But
when Solomon was silent again； John followed； with his great
round eyes； the direction of his looks； and did appear to have some
dawning distant notion that somebody had come to see him。
‘You know us； don’t you； Johnny？’ said the little clerk； rapping
himself on the breast。 ‘Daisy； you know—Chigwell Church—bell…
ringer—little desk on Sundays—eh； Johnny？’
Mr Willet reflected for a few moments； and then muttered； as it
were mechanically： ‘Let us sing to the praise and glory of—’
‘Yes； to be sure；’ cried the little man； hastily； ‘that’s it—that’s
me； Johnny。 You’re all right now； an’t you？ Say you’re all right；
Johnny。’
‘All right？’ pondered Mr Willet； as if that were a matter entirely
between himself and his conscience。 ‘All right？ Ah！’
‘They haven’t been misusing you with sticks； or pokers； or any
other blunt instruments—have they； Johnny？’ asked Solomon；
with a very anxious glance at Mr Willet’s head。 ‘They didn’t beat
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you； did they？’
John knitted his brow； looked downwards； as if he were
mentally engaged in some arithmetical calculation； then upwards；
as if the total would not come at his call； then at Solomon Daisy；
from his eyebrow to his shoe…buckle； then very slowly round the
bar。 And then a great； round； leaden…looking； and not at all
transparent tear； came rolling out of each eye； and he said； as he
shook his head：
‘If they’d only had the goodness to murder me； I’d have thanked
’em kindly。’
‘No； no； no； don’t say that； Johnny；’ whimpered his little friend。
‘It’s very； very bad； but not quite so bad as that。 No； no！’
‘Look’ee here； sir！’ cried John； turning his rueful eyes on Mr
Haredale； who had dropped on one knee； and was hastily
beginning to untie his bonds。 ‘Look’ee here； sir！ The very
Maypole—the old dumb Maypole—stares in at the winder； as if it
said； “John Willet； John Willet； let’s go and pitch ourselves in the
nighest pool of water as is deep enough to hold us； for our day is
over！”’
‘Don’t； Johnny； don’t；’ cried his friend： no less affected with this
mournful effort of Mr Willet’s imagination； than by the sepulchral
tone in which he had spoken of the Maypole。 ‘Please don’t；
Johnny！’
‘Your loss is great； and your misfortune a heavy one；’ said Mr
Haredale； looking restlessly towards the door： ‘and this is not a
time to comfort you。 If it were； I am in no condition to do so。
Before I leave you； tell me one thing； and try to tell me plainly； I
implore you