Here a coach, with a sweet-faced girl, drew up along-side us. I could see her happy smile, her air of busy interest, as she bent her head to catch a glimpse of the steamer upon which she was perhaps about to take her first voyage abroad. I could even hear her laugh. The sensation was poignant. Wrapt up in the thought of Hope, whom I had not forgotten for one moment during this wild ride, the sight of joy which might never again be hers came like a glimpse into another sphere, so far removed did I feel from everything bespeaking the ordinary interests of life, much less its extraordinary pleasures and anticipations.
Mr. Gryce in the meantime was fuming over the delay.
"We might better have come up —— Street," he said. "Ah! that's better. We will arrive at our destination now in less than ten minutes."
We had passed the Cunarder's wharf, and were now rolling rapidly northward.
Suddenly the cab stopped.
"Again?" I cried.
Mr. Gryce replied by stepping out upon the sidewalk.
"We alight here," said he.
I rapidly followed him.
The rain dashing in my face blinded me for a moment; then I perceived that we were standing on a corner in front of a saloon, and that Mr. Gryce was talking very earnestly to two men who seemed to have sprung up from nowhere. When he had finished with what he had to say to them, he turned to me.