"Anthony, to be sure, my nephew-in-law. But I say, Justice, thou art a religious man and a bit of a Puritan; now solve me this. When I thought this was my Lady's coach, and that she was about to put out her bony hand, and to wave me to come in, then I swore and protested I'd not touch another drop of drink and be good as any red-letter day saint. Now, as the carriage is not hers, but yours, and instead of the Lady wi' the Ashen Face it is the Right Worshipful Justice Crymes, what say you? Does it hold? Mind you, the oath was taken under misapprehension. Does it hold?" "What is that you say, Master Gibbs, about your niece? Is she really so ill?" "Ill! So ill that I made sure the coach was on its way for her. I've been running about the world all night like the Wandering Jew, to first one ale-house and then another, after Anthony. Confound the fellow! what does he mean, running away, hiding where none can find him, when Urith is so ill?" "What ails her?" asked Mr. Crymes. "Step in by me----" "No. 'Fore Heaven, I don't like the risk. You may be my Lady in disguise, and I may rub my eyes and find that a trick has been put on me, I will into no coach whatever to-night. I will keep to my own feet, though, indeed, they are so shaken with much running about that I can't rely on them. I'll to the surgeon and have him examine them, and let me know why they do not hold up under me as they was wont." "How long has Urith been ill?" "Now, look here!" said Mr. Solomon Gibbs, approaching the window closer, and lowering his voice. "Poor thing, poor thing! Prematurely, and the babe dead--she out of her mind, crazed like--the house upside down, and me running about the country, looking into every alehouse I can call to mind, to make inquiries after Anthony, and not a footprint of him anywhere, and he has gone off with a horse--the apple-grey--you know him." "I can tell thee where Anthony Cleverdon is--he has followed the highest call--the voice of religion and of his country's need. He has ridden away to join the Duke of Monmouth." "Whew!" whistled Solomon. "And his wife like every minute to die! I'll go back and tell her. This is ugly tidings--he tried to give me a blow 'gainst all laws of the game, this past day, but that I forgive him. But to run off and never leave a word at home, and Urith dying! That I'll never forgive." "If I encounter him in the camp I will tell him the tidings; and now I must along. This delay has been great. Wilkey! what are you standing there agape for? Urge the horses on; by this time we should have been at the top of Black Down. Fare thee well, Master Gibbs." He waived his hand out of the window. The whips were cracked, shouts, oaths, and entreaties recommenced, and the vehicle was again in motion. Mr. Solomon Gibbs remained standing.