Satisfied with this repartee, the Corporal now (like an experienced jester) withdrew to leave its full effect on the admiration of his master. A little before sunset the two travellers renewed their journey.
"I have loaded the pistols, Sir," said the Corporal, pointing to the holsters on Walter's saddle. "It is eighteen miles off to the next town— will be dark long before we get there."
"You did very right, Bunting, though I suppose there is not much danger to be apprehended from the gentlemen of the highway."
"Why the Landlord do say the revarse, your honour,—been many robberies lately in these here parts."
"Well, we are fairly mounted, and you are a formidable-looking fellow,
Bunting."
"Oh! your honour," quoth the Corporal, turning his head stiffly away, with a modest simper, "You makes me blush; though, indeed, bating that I have the military air, and am more in the prime of life, your honour is well nigh as awkward a gentleman as myself to come across."
"Much obliged for the compliment!" said Walter, pushing his horse a little forward—the Corporal took the hint and fell back.
It was now that beautiful hour of twilight when lovers grow especially tender. The young traveller every instant threw his dark eyes upward, and thought—not of Madeline, but her sister. The Corporal himself grew pensive, and in a few moments his whole soul was absorbed in contemplating the forlorn state of the abandoned Jacobina.
In this melancholy and silent mood, they proceeded onward till the shades began to deepen; and by the light of the first stars Walter beheld a small, spare gentleman riding before him on an ambling nag, with cropped ears and mane. The rider, as he now came up to him, seemed to have passed the grand climacteric, but looked hale and vigorous; and there was a certain air of staid and sober aristocracy about him, which involuntarily begat your respect.
He looked hard at Walter as the latter approached, and still more hard at the Corporal. He seemed satisfied with the survey.