Ross listened to the first portion of this speech with a cold and crafty smile playing and deepening about his mouth, but at the close this smile died away, and with it every vestige of color—his eyes wandered rapidly from object to object, avoiding the face of his benefactor, and when Mr. Clark would have spoken again, he forgot all the habitual deference of his manner and interrupted him.
“Have no trouble about this man, De Grainges; I will attend to him at once. The cause of this unaccountable delay in the court shall be ascertained and remedied. Now that I see how deeply your happiness is involved, no effort shall be wanting on my part to bring the trial to an issue. To this end, I must start for the city at once.”
Ross held out his hand, and grasped that of his patron.
“Accomplish this for me, Ross, and no being ever lived more grateful than I shall be,” said the generous man. “I depend on you.”
“You may, most positively,” was the emphatic reply; and wringing the hand he held, Ross left the garden. He met a servant in the hall, and accosted him with the sharp command to have a horse saddled. Then, passing into the inner room, he spoke a few hasty words, not to his wife, but to the black woman, Louisa, and then hurried to the stable.
With the sluggish habits of his race, the negro was lazily dragging forth a saddle from its repository, when his master came up booted, and with a riding whip in his hand.
“Walk quick, you scoundrel!” he said, laying the whip over the sleek negro with a force that made the old fellow start into something resembling haste; but even this unheardof activity did not satisfy the master; he snatched the saddle, flung it over the horse, and set his teeth firmly together, as he buckled the girth. Sharply ordering the man out of his way, he sprang upon the horse and dashed toward the city, at first in a light canter; but the moment he was out of sight, the high-spirited animal was put to the top of his speed, and horse and man flew like lightning along the road.
At each turn of the road, Ross would lean forward on his saddle and take a new survey of the distance, muttering his disappointment in half-gasped sentences, as he sped along.
“Oh, if I could but overtake the carriage before it reaches the city! A single glimpse of it might be enough—nothing should take me from the track; nothing, nothing. Ha! that is it—no, only a sugar-cart. Why did I let him keep me? I must, I will know who these people are—no, no, I am foiled at last!”
This exclamation was followed by a sharp check to the horse, who was still bounding forward at the top of his speed. The city lay before him; but along the winding highway, over which his eye ran like lightning, there was no carriage at all resembling the one that Louisa had described to him as that which had borne her young charge away.