"I laughed, too," said Cludde, "but 'tis no laughing matter. The
villain has a parson to his hand--a besotted Cambridge fellow who
has sunk to buccaneering with the pretty crew Vetch has about him.
I said I'd see him hanged first; I've been sick of the fellow this
long time; and then he threatened me, and in his blazing temper
told me about the will which he stole--"

"You didn't know it?" I cried, astonished.

"Why, I'm not a saint, Bold," he said, "but I'm not so bad as that.
Vetch told Sir Richard that his uncle had burned the will among
some old papers by mistake, and was afraid to confess it, but he
tells me now 'twas he stole it and hid it, and says that if I
attempt to interfere with him he'll produce it and turn us out of
our property--which is yours, Bold; and swear that he stole it at
Sir Richard's request. And then I called him a villain to his face,
and said I would go instantly back to Spanish Town and proclaim him
for the scoundrel he is, and he laughed and said I should never get
there alive.

"But his horse was standing by; he had just come in from riding;
and before he knew what I was about I was in the saddle and
galloped off. In my hurry I took the wrong road. The horse carried
me into the forest and stumbled over a root, and down I went, and
lay dazed for a time, and when I got up I wandered about, utterly
lost, and fell among these niggers. You know the rest."

I fell silent, thinking of Vetch's villainy, and of the extremity
of peril in which Lucy lay. That she would willingly wed him I did