No one knows but Miles and I, and
our wives. Anne put us on the scent. Now, Herbert, I'll go to the
poor man at once, and you had better find a magistrate."
"Whom can I find?" said Herbert. "There's my father away, and
Raymond ill, and Lipscombe waved me off--wouldn't so much as speak
to me for fear I should be infectious."
"You must get a town magistrate."
"Briggs is frantic since he lost his son, and Truelove thinks he has
the fever, though Worth says it is all nonsense. There's nobody but
Whitlock. Dear old Jenny! Well, there always was something
different from other people in her, and I never guessed what it was.
I'd go to the end of the world to make her happy and get that
patient look out of her eyes."
Herbert had nearly to fulfil this offer, for Mr. Whitlock was gone
to London for the day, and magistrates were indeed scarce; but at
last, after walking two miles out of the town, his vehemence and
determination actually dragged in the unfortunate, timid justice of
the peace who had avoided him in the road, but who could not refuse
when told in strong earnest that the justification of an innocent
man depended on his doing his duty.
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