"Miss, I want to speak with you. I have got a writ against you for
eleven hundred pounds at the suit of squire Tyrrel."

At these words both Mrs. Hammond and Emily were dumb. The latter was
scarcely able to annex any meaning to the intelligence; and, though Mrs.
Hammond was somewhat better acquainted with the sort of language that
was employed, yet in this strange and unexpected connection it was
almost as mysterious to her as to poor Emily herself.

"A writ? How can she be in Mr. Tyrrel's debt? A writ against a child!"

"It is no signification putting your questions to us. We only do as we
are directed. There is our authority. Look at it."

"Lord Almighty!" exclaimed Mrs. Hammond, "what does this mean? It is
impossible Mr. Tyrrel should have sent you."

"Good woman, none of your jabber to us! Cannot you read?"

"This is all a trick! The paper is forged! It is a vile contrivance to
get the poor orphan out of the hands of those with whom only she can be
safe. Proceed upon it at your peril!"

"Rest you content; that is exactly what we mean to do. Take my word, we
know very well what we are about."

"Why, you would not tear her from her bed? I tell you, she is in a high
fever; she is light-headed; it would be death to remove her! You are
bailiffs, are not you? You are not murderers?"