Beautiful Rienzi; or, The secret vendetta — page 177: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

172 BEAUTIFUL RIENZI, ‘¢You shall wait until we have preceded you,” I cried. He did not heed me; with a sudden spring forward he wrenched the reins out of Nelson’s hands and led the horse out of the building, muttering, as he did so, words which I could not hear. Just as his foot was on the step he was laid flat on the sandy road by one blow from our lusty coachman’s fist. ‘“‘ Lie there, ye old scoundrel!’ he said, coolly securing the horse to an iron ring. Then he led out our carriage, and held the door open for us. ‘Oh, Nelson!” exclaimed my mother, in deep distress, ‘‘I wish you had not touched him.” “‘Couldn’t help it, ma’am,” said Nelson, respectfully touching his hat; “he called our Miss Ivanilla a viperous little cuss and be hanged to him; he may be thankful I didn’t twist his old whirlbones into splinters.” ‘Go and see if he is hurt, Nelson.” _ ‘‘Couldn’t see it, nohow, mistress. Sorry to disobey ye, but it’s not for them varmin to be coddled. Humph! the old coon is getting up, bad luck to him, and I must drive on.” He clambered into his seat and passed close by the pros- trate man; he was now on his knees, his hat a crushed mass under one knee; his long grizzled hair flowing down each cheek; his lips white and working with rage; his eyes glar- ing with the terrible passion of a wolf before the spring. He waved his arms wildly as we passed, and shook his clutched fist. ‘Ah, accursed vipers! wretches! I will be revenged!” he shrieked, shrilly as a maniac, in Italian. Ralph Morecombe was an Itahan. We were now dashing up the hilk from ‘Shirley Sands, and we sat side by side grasping each other’s hands and writhing with a sense of a disastrous defeat. I marked the slow recurring milestones In an agony of dread presentiment; misery reduced us to silence. Nelson made good progress, though the horses were somewhat blown by the heavy roads; we soon became aware by the increased speed that we were taking our turn in being pursued. The grit of the hight wheels came closer and closer; if Morecombe could dash past us he was de- termined to do it. We had reached a high part of the road, built up from COMICOOO S (©)