The ferryman appeared to be old and feeble. He bent his face over his pole as he drove it into the ground at the bow of the boat, and followed it into the stern.
“Aye,” said he, “the storm is coming up quickly and from what I can see of it at present we shall have it pretty sharp and no mistake.”
When the boat grounded upon the sandy shelving bank on the other side, the ferryman stepped out and fastened the chain, averting his face from the boat.
The driver led the horses out of the craft and up the bank, the carriage jolting and rumbling as he did so. As the lady passed out her dress touched the hand of the ferryman.
At this touch he started suddenly and trembled all over, and his eyes followed her savagely.
As soon as she was reseated in the carriage, and had pulled the blinds down, the driver looked back at him significantly.
He nodded and climbed into the rumble, where he sat with his arms crossed, and his head upon his breast.
Laura Stanbridge—crouched within the vehicle, which she had made dark as if her thoughts were too evil to bear the light—did not hear the wind which now howled fiercely above her head, nor the thunder peals, which every moment grew more long and loud.
“Ah!” said she, “I will see this proud earl, and let him know who and what his father is. He little thinks what an amusing tale I have to tell about Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Gatliffe. I will bring him to my feet, and he will be but too glad to purchase my silence at a princely sum. So, Mr. Gatliffe, you spurn me now like the rest—do you? Are meditating mischief, I’ll dare be sworn. Well, we shall see. Fool that you were to entrust me with your secrets!”
She uttered a cry of impatience as she saw, from the slow pace of the horses, and the manner in which the carriage hung back, that they were ascending a steep hill.