With that he lunged forward, thrusting the cluster of five so suddenly into Andrew’s face that that gentleman threw himself heavily backwards, and the chair, being unprovided with castors, overbalanced, and fell violently to the ground. Undeterred by the catastrophe and the peculiar appearance presented by Mr. Burge’s flushed and dazed countenance as he stared helplessly upwards, contemplating probably a thousand stars, Isaac seized the chair by the legs and began to drag it across the floor, bumping its occupant unmercifully in his exertions. His own countenance was, indeed, almost as purple in hue as Andrew’s by the time he reached the door, which was obligingly thrown open as he neared it, revealing Sam Belbin’s delighted face. The alarmed countenances of the maids peered over his shoulder, while a few manly forms were huddled together in the passage. Mr. Sharpe’s extremely audible tones had attracted many eager listeners; nothing so exciting had taken place at Littlecomb since Elias Fiander’s funeral. ‘Here, you chaps,’ cried the farmer, still tugging violently at the chair, and panting with his efforts; ‘here, come on, some on you. Lend a hand to get rid o’ this here carcase.’ Nothing loath, the men sprang forward, and between them the chair with its occupant was dragged out of the room and along the passage. ‘What’s he been a-doin’ of?’ inquired Sam with great gusto, as he dropped his particular chair-leg on the cobble-stones in the yard. ‘Never you mind what he’ve been a-doin’ of,’ returned Isaac, straightening himself and wiping his brow. ‘Get him out of that there chair, and trot him off the premises—that’s what you ’ve a-got to do.’ Andrew Burge was with some difficulty set on his legs, and after gazing vacantly round him appeared to recover a remnant of his scattered senses. ‘I’ll summons you, Mr. Sharpe,’ he cried. ‘The liberties of the British subject is not to be vi’lently interfered with! I leave this spot,’ he added, looking round loftily but unsteadily, ‘with contumely!’ Anyone who had subsequently seen Sam and Robert conducting the suitor to the high road would have endorsed the truth of this remark, though Mr. Burge, according to his custom, had merely used the first long word that occurred to him without any regard to its appropriateness. Returning to the house, Isaac went to the foot of the stairs and called out Rosalie’s name in a mildly jubilant roar. ‘Come down, Mrs. Fiander; come down, my dear! He be gone, and won’t never trouble you no more, I’ll answer for ’t.’ Rosalie came tripping downstairs, smiling, in spite of a faintly alarmed expression. ‘What a noise you did make, to be sure!’ she remarked; ‘and what a mess the parlour is in!’ ‘We did knock down a few things, I d’ ’low, when we was cartin’ ’en out of this,’ returned Isaac apologetically. ‘He was a-settin’ in my chair, and he up and told me to my face as he’d go on a-settin’ there till he seed ’ee—that were comin’ it a bit too strong!’