’All right, governor,’ said Sampson. ’Now I will tell you the worst, and a cursed ugly worst it is. You may as well hear it from me as from another. I must be off to-night—at once; you suit your convenience. Do as you like. You have nothing to fear but the stone jug; I the wooden horse. I have shot one man dead to-day, the constable, and broken the neck of another, John Herring, so the two can keep each other company; and I must make off.’ Then old Trampleasure dropped like a stone on the floor. There came a sudden blow within his head, as from a hammer, and he saw nothing more. Sampson stood over him for a moment. No time was to be lost. Every minute was important. Whatever happened to his father, he—Sampson—must get clear away. He saw in a moment what had occurred. His father had been struck down with an apoplectic fit, and could not escape. Time was too precious to be wasted in attending to him. He could not afford to call for assistance. He stooped and took up the bunch of keys, and went to the strong box. Without much difficulty he unlocked it, and fell to wondering over his father’s wisdom. Old Trampleasure had feared discovery, and was prepared for a sudden emergency. All the money that had come into his hands had been reduced to the most portable form possible, in hundred-pound, fifty-pound, and ten-pound notes. There they lay in thick packets. Sampson took them all. He left not one behind, and stowed them away in a travelling valise of his father’s, which the old man took with him when he went to Ophir for a few days. Then Sampson opened the private door of the office, and, without another look at the old man lying prostrate, darted forth. ’What a time them two are in there together!’ grumbled Mrs. Trampleasure; ’and, oh dear! there comes the chaise to take us to Trecarrel.’ She ran to the foot of the stairs, and called, ’Orange dear! Orange! the carridge be here!’ ’I am ready, mother,’ answered the bride, descending. The hall was well lighted; and as she came down, followed by Mirelle, she looked radiant, proud, triumphant. She waved back Mirelle, lest she should step on her veil, with an angry, insolent gesture. ’My word, Orange! you are a beauty! I’ll run and call your father.’ But he was beyond call. *CHAPTER XXXI.* *JOYCE’S PATIENT.* Joyce and her patient could not remain concealed. Her cries had been heard when she fell—literally tooth and nail—on Sampson Tramplara, and those who heard them, being superstitious, thought best to keep away from the spot whence they had sounded.