She is there at
last! Come in, I beg!'
Mr Haredale entered, followed by the locksmith. Turning with a look of
great astonishment to the old woman who had opened the door, he inquired
for Mrs Rudge--for Barnaby. They were both gone, she replied, wagging
her ancient head, for good. There was a gentleman in the parlour, who
perhaps could tell them more. That was all SHE knew.
'Pray, sir,' said Mr Haredale, presenting himself before this new
tenant, 'where is the person whom I came here to see?'
'My dear friend,' he returned, 'I have not the least idea.'
'Your trifling is ill-timed,' retorted the other in a suppressed tone
and voice, 'and its subject ill-chosen. Reserve it for those who
are your friends, and do not expend it on me. I lay no claim to the
distinction, and have the self-denial to reject it.'
'My dear, good sir,' said Mr Chester, 'you are heated with walking. Sit
down, I beg. Our friend is--'
'Is but a plain honest man,' returned Mr Haredale, 'and quite unworthy
of your notice.'
'Gabriel Varden by name, sir,' said the locksmith bluntly.
'A worthy English yeoman!' said Mr Chester. 'A most worthy yeoman, of
whom I have frequently heard my son Ned--darling fellow--speak, and have
often wished to see.
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