“The de’il a bit ye’ll get the white moss rose to grow, unless you bud him on the dogue-rose first,” cried a voice at the window.

We both turned round.  There was the everlasting Mr. Begbie, too eager for the controversy to wait any longer at the gate.  The Sergeant wrung my hand, and darted out into the court-yard, hotter still on his side.  “Ask him about the moss rose, when he comes back, and see if I have left him a leg to stand on!” cried the great Cuff, hailing me through the window in his turn.  “Gentlemen, both!” I answered, moderating them again as I had moderated them once already.

“In the matter of the moss rose there is a great deal to be said on both sides!” I might as well (as the Irish say) have whistled jigs to a milestone.  Away they went together, fighting the battle of the roses without asking or giving quarter on either side.  The last I saw of them, Mr. Begbie was shaking his obstinate head, and Sergeant Cuff had got him by the arm like a prisoner in charge.  Ah, well! well!  I own I couldn’t help liking the Sergeant—­though I hated him all the time.

Explain that state of mind, if you can.  You will soon be rid, now, of me and my contradictions.  When I have reported Mr. Franklin’s departure, the history of the Saturday’s events will be finished at last.  And when I have next described certain strange things that happened in the course of the new week, I shall have done my part of the Story, and shall hand over the pen to the person who is appointed to follow my lead.  If you are as tired of reading this narrative as I am of writing it—­Lord, how we shall enjoy ourselves on both sides a few pages further on!

CHAPTER XXIII

I had kept the pony chaise ready, in case Mr. Franklin persisted in leaving us by the train that night.  The appearance of the luggage, followed downstairs by Mr. Franklin himself, informed me plainly enough that he had held firm to a resolution for once in his life.

“So you have really made up your mind, sir?” I said, as we met in the hall.  “Why not wait a day or two longer, and give Miss Rachel another chance?”

The foreign varnish appeared to have all worn off Mr. Franklin, now that the time had come for saying good-bye.  Instead of replying to me in words, he put the letter which her ladyship had addressed to him into my hand.  The greater part of it said over again what had been said already in the other communication received by me.  But there was a bit about Miss Rachel added at the end, which will account for the steadiness of Mr. Franklin’s determination, if it accounts for nothing else.