’Why, bless me!’ said the minister, starting to his feet. ’As sure as I am alive that is Mr. John Herring. Stay, young man,’ he called to the waggoner. ’How comes the gentleman in such a plight? Girl,’ to Joyce, ’where did you find him? Is he alive? Is he badly hurt? How came this about?’ The little man jumped out of the carriage in a fever of excitement, and pity, and alarm. Joyce gave him no information, but he picked up something from the boy who drove, and learned that, in some way or other, Sampson Tramplara was involved. ’Bless my soul!’ exclaimed Mr. Flamank. ’One cannot be too thankful for mercies. Actually John Herring made me—me run after this cut-throat murderer—and yet I remain unhurt; whereas John Herring, who takes up the chase, is killed. A really startling interposition of Providence.’ ’He be not dead,’ said Joyce, fiercely; ’I shan’t let ’n die, I shan’t.’ Then the waggon, moved on. ’Where be West Wyke to?’ asked the driver. ’I’ll tell’y where to stop,’ answered Joyce. ’Go right on till I shout Wo!’ She allowed him to proceed past the turning over the turf leading to West Wyke, and then she suddenly gave the signal to halt. ’The road over the moor be too bad to travel wi’ wheels,’ said Joyce. ’You bide here, and I will fetch vaither, and he’ll carry the maister home, along of I.’ Joyce was not long gone before she returned with old Cobbledick, carrying a hurdle. With the carter’s help, Herring was lifted on to it; and then Joyce and her father departed over the moor, without another word to the man, conveying Herring between them. ’They be rum folk in these parts,’ said Jim White, the waggoner, ’not to offer a fellow a glass of cyder, and the hosses all of a lather with the journey.’ *CHAPTER XXXII* *DESTITUTE.* Mr. Trampleasure’s death, through the bursting of a blood-vessel on the brain, and the escape of Sampson, left the three women at Dolbeare without a head. Captain Trecarrel did not appear, except to make a formal call of condolence, or to offer his services in a manner that implied that this offer was not to be accepted. ’Lucky dog that I am,’ said he to himself; ’saved at the last moment in a manner melodramatic. There is a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, and takes care of the fate of Trecarrel. By George! suppose I had been noosed and turned off before this terrible scandal came out, what should I have done? Now there lies before me one clear course of action. There is an opera company at this time performing in Exeter, and I am fond of music. I must positively go to the faithful city[1] by the next coach, and not return till the clouds have cleared somewhat. But before I go, there is one duty I must perform. I must let the directors of Ophir know of old Trampleasure’s five thousand pounds lodged in the hands of John Herring.’ [1] The motto of Exeter is ’Semper fidelis.’