It was one of those positions which try a man to the uttermost; and it
was to Sir George's credit that, duped and defeated, astonishingly
tricked in the moment of success, and physically shaken by his fall, he
neither broke into execrations nor shod unmanly tears. He groaned, it is
true, and his arm pressed more heavily on the servant's shoulder, as he
listened and listened in vain for sign or so and of the runaways.
But he still commanded himself, and in face of how great a misfortune! A more
futile, a more wretched end to an expedition it was impossible to
conceive. The villains had out-paced, out-fought, and out-manoeuvred
him; and even now were rolling merrily on to Bath, while he, who a few
minutes before had held the game in his hands, lay belated here without
horses and without hope, in a wretched plight, his every moment
embittered by the thought of his mistress's fate.
In such crises--to give the devil his due--the lessons of the
gaming-table, dearly bought as they are, stand a man in stead. Sir
George's fancy pictured Julia a prisoner, trembling and dishevelled,
perhaps gagged and bound by the coarse hands of the brutes who had her
in their power; and the picture was one to drive a helpless man mad. Had
he dwelt on it long and done nothing it must have crazed him. But in his
life he had lost and won great sums at a coup, and learned to do the
one and the other with the same smile--it was the point of pride, the
form of his time and class. While Mr. Fishwick, therefore, wrung his
hands and lamented, and the servant swore, Sir George's heart bled
indeed, but it was silently and inwardly; and meanwhile he thought,
calculated the odds, and the distance to Bath and the distance to
Bristol, noted the time; and finally, and with sudden energy, called on
the men to be moving. 'We must get to Bath,' he said. 'We will be
upsides with the villains yet. But we must get to Bath. What horses
have we?' Mr. Fishwick, who up to this point had played his part like a man,
wailed that his horse was dead lame and could not stir a step. The
lawyer was sore, stiff, and beyond belief weary; and this last mishap,
this terrible buffet from the hand of Fortune, left him cowed and
spiritless.
'Horses or no horses, we must get to Bath,' Sir George answered
feverishly.
On this the servant made an attempt to drag Sir George's mount from the
ditch, but the poor beast would not budge, and in the darkness it was
impossible to discover whether it was wounded or not. Mr. Fishwick's was
dead lame; the man's had wandered away. It proved that there was nothing
for it but to walk. Dejectedly, the three took the road and trudged
wearily through the darkness. They would reach Bathford village, the man
believed, in a mile and a half.