To horse, my brave men. We ride to
Ardrochan!" And he turned his pony.
[Illustration: "To-night reflect on your misdeeds. To-morrow we will
treat of your ransom."]
The money-lender broke into threats and abuse; then, as the pony drew
further away, he passed to entreaties. Tinker never turned his head;
he rode on, brimming with joyous triumph; he had a real prisoner.
Mr. Lambert shouted after him till he was hoarse, he shouted after him
till his voice was a wheezy croak. Tinker passed out of sight without
a glance back, and, for a while, that iron-hearted, inexorable man of
many loans, sobbed like a child with mingled rage and fear. Then he
scrambled down the ladder, and tried the door. There was no chance of
his bursting it open; that was a feat far beyond his strength; and
though he might have worked the rusted bars out of the window, he could
never have forced his rotundity through it. Then he bethought himself
of passers-by, and hurried to the top of the tower. There was no one
in sight. He shouted and shouted till he lost his voice again; the
echoes died away among the empty hills. He leaned upon the parapet
waiting, with the faintest hope that the diabolical boy would tire of
his joke, return, and set him free.
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