On his way he encountered Samuel Ceely, who put forth his maimed hand, and crooked the remaining fingers in his overcoat to arrest him, as he went by.
"What do you want with me?" asked Jingles impatiently.
"I should be so glad if you would put in a word for me," pleaded the old man.
"I am engaged—I cannot wait."
"But" urged old Ceely, without letting go his hold, "Joan has axed Miss Arminell for a scullery-maid's place for me. Now I'd rather have to do wi' the dogs, or I could keep the guns beautifully clean, or even the stables."
"I really cannot attend to this!" said Jingles impatiently. "I have other matters of more importance now on my mind; besides, my influence is not what—" he spoke bitterly—"what it should be in the great house."
"You might do me a good turn, and speak a word for me."
"The probability of my speaking a good word for you, or any one, to Lord Lamerton, or of doing any one a good turn in Orleigh Park, is gone from me for ever," said Giles. "You must detain me no longer—it is useless. Let me go."
He shook himself free from the clutch of the old man, and walked along the road.
After he had gone several paces, perhaps a hundred yards, he turned—moved by what impulse was unknown to him—and looked back. In the road, lit by the moon, stood the cripple, stretching forth his maimed hand after him, with the claw-like fingers.
