Bladys of the Stewponey. Baring-Gould Sabine

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СКАЧАТЬ him pull harder. Others attempted to release the boy by plucking at the chain attached to the beast's collar.

      Instantly the monkey set up his crest of hair, mouthed, growled, and leaped at those who tweaked his chain. This scattered them like chaff and some in their attempt to escape the monkey got under the legs of the horses. The post-boy used his whip on the backs of such as came within reach of his lash, and cast at them the most abusive expletives. The chain had been wrenched from its hold. The monkey was free, and the Savoyard, striving to forge his way after it, joined in the hubbub, dominating the uproar by his shrill cries that Jacko was loose, interlarded with oaths in Italian and entreaties in broken English.

      The ape, conscious that it was free, with cunning dropped out of sight to the ground, tucked up the chain, and dived in and out among the feet and petticoats of the crowd, who sprang apart, as though the earth had gaped, whenever they became aware of its proximity. Every now and then it ran up the back of some shrieking individual to take a look round, then jumped down again.

      After the ape, as well as he was able to judge his direction, came the Italian, crying out for his Jacko, now appealing to the beast's sense of gratitude, then invoking the assistance of the crowd, then calling down imprecations on all alike.

      He was torn, distracted, by alarm lest he should lose his monkey and by solicitude for his instrument, that was subjected to jolts and crushing by the crowd.

      None attended to the Italian; all were on the look-out to escape from the hoofs of the post-horses, the wheels of the carriage, or the hands of the ape. Then—none knew exactly when, not at all how—Jacko ceased to provoke uneasiness. He was gone, whither none asked, where none cared, glad to be relieved of menace from him.

      The alarm of the rabble abated. They formed hedges, leaving an open way for the travelling carriage, and the post-boy drew up before the inn door. At the same moment the bride and bridegroom appeared in the entrance—he triumphant, with a flame in his bold, dark eyes and a flush on his cheeks, she white as death, impassive, inanimate, some women said indifferent.

      Cornelius followed, his bloated face gleaming as a poppy. In his hand was a leather bag.

      "By gad, it's heavy," said he, "and ought to be. A good take to-day. Help you on with the housekeeping. All to-day's profits in silver and about fifty in gold in a canvas bag to itself. It shan't be said my daughter has left the Stewponey like a beggar. But, i' fecks, I don't half like your leaving at this time of the evening, and with all this money. The roads are not safe."

      "Safe enough for me," said Luke.

      "There have been highwaymen about. Not afraid?"

      "I! I afraid of highwaymen!" scoffed Francis. "I should consider rather that they would fear me."

      "Ah! the law, the law! All well enough in a town, but no protection in the country."

      "I have a pair of loaded pistols in the chaise. If any man come to the window without leave, I shall add a dab of lead to his already stupid brain."

      "You know best. Where is Captain Stracey?"

      "Captain George!" shouted those near, but there was no answer.

      "Haven't seen him since we left Stourton," said the Squire.

      "We must start," said Luke, and the ostler opened the door of the travelling carriage.

      "By George," laughed Rea, and drew himself up, "my daughter's marriage is like that of a lady—with a carriage and pair, and driving away for a honeymoon."

      "You haven't put the money bag on the pistols?" asked Francis.

      "Not such an ass. The pistols are at top."

      "Jacko! Who has seen, stole my Jacko?" cried the Savoyard, running forward.

      "Be hanged with your Jacko; stand back," said the landlord. "Now then," to the post-boy. "Tom, off!"

      The postillion cracked his whip, the horses pranced and dashed ahead.

      Then from the spectators rose a cheer. It was repeated, again repeated. The maids looked from the windows and waved kerchiefs and aprons. The vicar, already in the tavern, smoking, stumbled to the door, and waving his three-cornered hat in one hand and his clay pipe in the other, shouted—

      "It's a mad wedding, my masters."

      "It is one of your making," said the evening lecturer, who was outside.

      "Ah! Brother Priest! and a merry one—because mine. If yours, 'twould have been dull—deadly dull. My masters—it is a mad wedding."

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