Jacob climbed up to the driver's seat, and took possession of the reins. The man submitted quietly, glad to gather himself closer in his overcoat. A single crack of the whip, and off went the dripping horses, plunging furiously onward through the darkness, winding round whole blocks of buildings, doubling corners, and crossing one street half a dozen times, till it would have puzzled a man in broad daylight to guess where he was going, or whence he came. At length the carriage dashed into Broadway, and downward to the Astor House.
The coachman kept his seat, and Jacob once more let down the carriage steps. The drive had given him time for deliberation. He was no longer a slave to the rage that an hour before seemed to overpower his strength—rage that had changed his voice, and even his usual habits of language.
"Come in—come in!" said Leicester, as he ran up the steps. "I wish to ask a question or two."
Jacob made no answer, but followed in a heavy indifferent manner. All his faculties were now under control, and he was prepared to act any part that might present itself.
Leicester paused in the lobby, and turning round, cast a glance over Jacob's person. It was the first time he had obtained a full view of those harsh features. Leicester was perplexed. Was this the man who had guided him through the dark passages of the mansion-house, or was it only the coachman? The profound darkness had prevented him seeing that another person occupied the driver's seat when he left the carriage; and Jacob's air was so like a brother of the whip, that it puzzled even his acute penetration. The voice—Leicester had a faultless ear, and was certain that in the speech he should detect the man. He spoke, therefore, in a quiet, common way, and took out his purse.
"How much am I to pay you, my fine fellow?"
"What you please. The lady paid, but then it's a wet night, and——"
"Yes, yes, will that do?" cried Leicester, drawing forth a piece of silver. The voice satisfied him that it was the coachman only. The former tone had been quick, peremptory, and inspired with passion; now it was calm, drawling, and marked with something of a Down-East twang. Nothing could have been more unlike than that voice then, and an hour before.
Jacob took the money, and moving toward the light, examined it closely.
"Thank you, sir; I suppose it's a genuine half dollar," he said, turning away with the business-like air he had so well assumed.