Chapter IV. An Appeal Unto CÆSar.

On returning home, Mr. Dillon found his wife awaiting him with great anxiety. He narrated the whole of the incidents that had taken place in his interview with the agent; his pleading for a reversal, or at least a mitigation, of the sentence of expulsion, and the abrupt and peremptory manner in which the agent had shown the uselessness of his suit. He upbraided himself for having given way to his feelings, and for having used language that he now saw could have no other effect than closing the door of compassion, and increasing the evils of his unfortunate position.

The whole of the remainder of the day and far on into the night they spent in considering every aspect of their affairs. To alter the determination of the agent after what had occurred seemed beyond hope, and their thoughts were mainly as to what course they should take when deprived of their farm and home. Still one ray of hope presented itself, and when it was suggested by Mrs Dillon that possibly Lord Errington, if personally appealed to, might interpose his authority, the idea was grasped as a straw is clutched at by the drowning.

The high character which the noble owner of the estate bore, and which his family had always borne, as well as the favour that had been always shown to Dillon's family by the various agents who had managed the property before it had unfortunately come into the hands of Captain Lewis, encouraged the hope that a statement of the case made to his lordship personally, might not be without effect. Even if it only resulted in a respite, and a year or so were given in which they might wind up their affairs and make arrangements as to the future it would be something. Lord Errington was at present in London, and thither it was determined that Dillon should proceed before the agent had time to put his sentence into execution.

It was necessary that the whole thing should be done with secrecy as well as expedition; and the following evening was fixed on as the time for Mr Dillon's starting for the metropolis. But here they were confronted by a difficulty which the most recent determination of Captain Lewis had aggravated. Mr Dillon had stock and property sufficent to meet any engagement, and his arrangements in the town precluded any difficulty in the ordinary supplies of his household, pending the sale of his produce. But now the agent's order had put an embargo on the sale of eveything, and as they had not ready money sufficient, the question of ways and means in relation to the intended trip became a serious one.

Mrs Dillon promptly solved the difficulty by offering her little stock of jewellery and trinkets, the accumulations of happier days; many of them presents and love-tokens from her husband himself, but which now must be sacrificed, at least temporarily, to meet this sudden emergency. It went to the heart of Mr Dillon to accept the sacrifice, but there was no other course open, and they could only hope that the success which would attend his mission to London, would soon enable them to redeem the little treasures, as well as emerge from the troubles by which they were beset.

The following day was spent in quietly making preparations for the journey, the arrangement being that Mr Dillon should take the night coach, passing shortly before mid-night, page 9 so as to catch the early morning train leaving the nearest railway station, which was some twenty miles away. As the time approached for his leaving, Mrs Dillon had brought together her little stock of trinkets and laid them on the table with a cheery smile, and the assurance that they would not have to part with them for long, that she was very glad she had them, and was very much pleased to give them, for she was sure that they would be the means of lifting them out of their trouble.

Dillon looked on the little pile with some emotion, for there was not an article but had its own tender associations. There were the bracelets which he had given her in the first dawning of his love, when all the world looked bright, and he had no thought that ever such a day of darkness as this would come; and there was the locket in which one day, when roaming over the hills together as lovers, they had entwined their hair; and there the broach, his gift to her after the birth of their little Elsie, with the sweet baby face on the reverse; and under all, as if hidden away, was the engagement ring. He took it up and held it in his fingers, and his eyes filled with tears. She knew his thoughts, and, placing her arm round his neck, she pressed her lips to his.

‘Never mind, dear Willie, it does not signify. It is only for a short time; it will be all right,’ and then taking the earrings from her ears she added them, and proceeded at once to fold up the little parcel.

In order to avoid observation, Dillon intended to walk to town, and having transacted his little financial arrangements, to go on a few miles of the way before joining the coach. This preparation completed, husband and wife proceeded to the room where the children were sleeping. It was the first time Mr Dillon had ever left his family for more than a day, and the circumstances in which he was going, and the uncertainty of the result of his journey, made the parting a tender one. He stooped down and kissed the little sleepers, and hurried from the room. He saw that his feelings would unman him if he lingered, so putting on an air of stoical firmness, and bidding an affectionate good-bye to his wife, he started on his journey.

It was a dark still night; heavy banks of clouds covered the face of the sky, with here and there a little rift through which the stars were shining. Mr Dillon had not exactly disguised himself, at the same time he had so arranged his clothing as, if possible, to evade being recognised. A low felt hat, ‘slouched,’ and his coat buttoned to the throat, were sufficient to conceal his identity, unless from a very close observer, and as there were but few people abroad at that time he met with none that were likely to know him.

On reaching the town he turned down a side street where the Lombard Arms, which he had often noticed, though never with the expectation that he would some day find there a friend in need, afforded the opportunity of arranging the finances of the journey. Pulling his felt hat a little further down over his eyes he entered, and submitting his little parcel he asked for the requisite accommodation. The pawn-broker examined each article separately and agreeing to give the amount, asked for the name. Dillon was taken aback for an instant but answered ‘Thompson.’ and being handed a piece of paper filled up the name ‘John Thompson.’ Having received his money he passed round by the outskirts of the town till he reached the main coach road.

As it was nearly an hour yet till the coach would be due, Dillon proceeded along the road for about two miles. He had ascended a long, steep hill, on the top of which he meant to rest and await the coach. The clouds that had covered the sky had passed away and the stars were now shining brightly so that he could command a view of a great extent of country below.

Seating himself on a milestone his eyes naturally turned in the direction of his home. He could distinguish the hills in the neighborhood, and the waters of the loch, and even fancied that he could recognise the white walls of his cottage through the trees four or five miles away. Perhaps it was only fancy—perhaps it was from the straining of his eyes—but he almost believed that he could see the faint glimmer of a light, and he thought of the lonely watcher, and of the tenderness with which he knew she was thinking of him; and of his dear children sleeping unconscious of the trouble that was hanging over them all.

The whole plain below was slumbering and there was not a sound to break the stillness, but the barking of a solitary dog in the far distance whose persistent protest against his loneliness, and unheeded appeal to canine sympathy, even added to the loneliness of the scene.

Dillon had been for some time gazing across the plain, and brooding in the melancholy silence of the hour, when his attention was arrested by a flash—a second flash, and then the report of fire arms—and all was silence again. What could it be? The spot where this had occurred must be, he calculated, near the road by which he had come into town and about two miles from where he sat. His thoughts on the subject were interrupted, however, for just then he caught sight of the lights of the coach toiling up the hill. In a few minutes it had reached him. He hailed the driver, who pulled up and took him on board, and William Dillon was on his way to London.