"It's Captain Donnithorne," said Hetty tremulously, her heart beginning to beat
painfully at this disappointment of her hope that she should find Arthur at once.
"Captain Donnithorne? Stop a bit," said the landlard, slowly. "Was he in the
Loamshire Militia? A tall young officer with a fairish skin and reddish whiskers--
and had a servant by the name o' Pym?"
"Oh yes," said Hetty; "you know him--where is he?"
"A fine sight o' miles away from here. The Loamshire Militia's gone to Ireland; it's
been gone this fortnight."
"Look there! She's fainting," said the landlady, hastening to support Hetty, who
had lost her miserable consciousness and looked like a beautiful corpse. They
carried her to the sofa and loosened her dress.
"Here's a bad business, I suspect," said the landlord, as he brought in some
"Ah, it's plain enough what sort of business it is," said the wife. "She's not a
common flaunting dratchell, I can see that. She looks like a respectable country
girl, and she comes from a good way off, to judge by her tongue. She talks
something like that ostler we had that come from the north. He was as honest a
fellow as we ever had about the house--they're all honest folks in the north."
"I never saw a prettier young woman in my life," said the husband. "She's like a
pictur in a shop-winder. It goes to one's 'eart to look at her."
"It 'ud have been a good deal better for her if she'd been uglier and had more
conduct," said the landlady, who on any charitable construction must have been
supposed to have more "conduct" than beauty. "But she's coming to again. Fetch
a drop more water."