At the door of his own room he stopped.
"That will do; you can cut.

Walker." "But you're to have the best room and a fire--" "You be hanged!" exclaimed the boy, unceremoniously slamming the door in Walker's face, and locking himself in.
Downstairs, meanwhile, Jeffreys was being besieged with questions on all hands, which he endeavoured as best he could to answer.

Mr Rimbolt, however perceiving that very little good was to be got out of this confused cross-examination, asked him to follow him into the library, once more suggesting to his wife and niece that they should go to bed.
Jeffreys was thankful to find himself in a serene atmosphere, and despite all the agitation and excitement of the day, his heart warmed as he looked round on the bookshelves and their friendly occupants.
"Now," said Mr Rimbolt, who had made no attempt to take part in the babel outside, "will you please tell me everything ?" Jeffreys obeyed, and told his story in a concise and intelligent manner, which convinced Mr Rimbolt he had not only an honest man but a gentleman to deal with.

The master of Wildtree was not an effusive man, and if Jeffreys had looked to be overwhelmed with grateful speeches he would have been disappointed.

But he had not looked for it, and valued far more the quiet confidential manner in which Mr Rimbolt entered into all the details of the narrative.
"Then," said the latter, when the story was ended, "as a matter of fact you have the three ruffians penned in the shed by your dog at this moment--an excellent piece of management." He rang his bell, and Walker, who had felt quite out of it for the half- hour, appeared with great promptitude.
"Walker, are any of the men about still ?" "Appleby is holding this man's horse at the hall door, sir." "Send Appleby here, and take the horse and cart round to the farm." Poor Walker! This was a sad cut.