Bellamy, which was the hawbuck's name, bestriding the four
post-horses; and that these formed a sort of cavalry escort, riding
now before, now behind the chaise, and Bellamy occasionally
posturing at the window and obliging us with some of his
conversation. He was so ill-received that I declare I was tempted
to pity him, remembering from what a height he had fallen, and how
few hours ago it was since the lady had herself fled to his arms,
all blushes and ardour. Well, these great strokes of fortune
usually befall the unworthy, and Bellamy was now the legitimate
object of my commiseration and the ridicule of his own post-boys!
'Miss Dorothy,' said I, 'you wish to be delivered from this man?'
'O, if it were possible!' she cried. 'But not by violence.'
'Not in the least, ma'am,' I replied. 'The simplest thing in life.
We are in a civilised country; the man's a malefactor--'
'O, never!' she cried. 'Do not even dream it! With all his
faults, I know he is not THAT.'
'Anyway, he's in the wrong in this affair--on the wrong side of the
law, call it what you please,' said I; and with that, our four
horsemen having for the moment headed us by a considerable
interval, I hailed my post-boy and inquired who was the nearest
magistrate and where he lived. Archdeacon Clitheroe, he told me, a
prodigious dignitary, and one who lived but a lane or two back, and
at the distance of only a mile or two out of the direct road.
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