VII.—MORE THIEVES AND MORE GHOSTS.
All the world was below stairs; for half the neighbourhood had been roused by Mrs. Hagedorn’s outcries: amongst them, by the way, was slippery Dick; which is very well, as we shall want him for the catastrophe; and we desire that he will not leave the premises till that is effected. Though Dick, however, and other extra persons were there, one essential limb of the family was not: in the general muster every body perceived that Miss Fanny was absent.
“Fanny, my love!” cried Mr. Mule, all the way up stairs to her bed-room: “Fan, Fan, my love!” But no “Fan, Fan,” answered. He advanced to her bed, and gazed upon it with horror: no soft swelling or fine undulations of the bed-clothes expressed the beautiful outlines of a young woman’s person: no quiet heaving betrayed the corresponding breathings of Miss Fanny, or the gentle pulsations of Miss Fanny’s heart. Miss Fanny was gone. But when, and whither, and how? If thieves had opened the window, thieves could hardly have stolen Miss Fanny. No: there was something in it more than all that. Mr. Mule was alone, and Mr. Mule again began to quake. The rose-tree, the thieves, and even Nelly Hagedorn, all became apocryphal in his eyes; and it seemed to him that there was nothing certain under the sun, but his own shins and other people’s ghosts.
Down stairs he posted, and stated the facts. All present were alarmed, except Mrs. Tabitha, who contemplated the case exclusively in relation to virtue; and, as her virtue was chiefly manufactured by Cant and Co., from extra superfine particular humbug, Miss Fanny’s character was likely to suffer some damage in her hands. But Mr. Mule saw this, and hastily took it out of them: he called her an old cat: swore that he had done wrong to torment his niece by putting her under such a duenna: if Fanny had gone off voluntarily, no doubt it was to drown herself; in which case they would be both haunted by her ghost; and justly, as he must acknowledge. However he would take his horse and ride all over the country in search of her.
So saying he mounted up stairs to equip himself, whilst most of the others accompanied Mrs. Nelly to the spectacle of the little gaol delivery which she promised.
“Now we shall see,” cried Mrs. Nelly, triumphantly, as she unlocked the door, “whether my warnings are always to be set at nought.” So saying, she threw the door open with the air of one who is exposing to the public some great exhibition of lions: the company, however, were so ceremonious, that none chose to
