“Not before you left him?”
“Well, I'll admit that a suspicion of it came to me at the very last moment—too late to be of any use. But come, damme! that's all over, and what's the good o' talking? You tried your best to catch the fellow, too, but he was too much for you! 'T isn't such an easy job, eh?”
This sort of swagger was Alfred Barton's only refuge, when he was driven into a corner. Though some color still lingered in his face, he spread his shoulders with a bold, almost defiant air, and met Gilbert's eye with a steady gaze. The latter was not prepared to carry his examination further, although he was still far from being satisfied.
“Come, come, Gilbert!” Barton presently resumed, “I mean no offence. You showed yourself to be true blue, and you led the hunt as well as any man could ha' done; but the very thought o' the fellow makes me mad, and I'll know no peace till he's strung up. If I was your age, now! A man seems to lose his spirit as he gets on in years, and I'm only sorry you weren't made captain at the start, instead o' me. You shall be, from this time on; I won't take it again!”
“One thing I'll promise you,” said Gilbert, with a meaning look, “that I won't let him walk into the bar-room of the Unicorn, without hindrance.”
“I'll bet you won't!” Barton exclaimed. “All I'm afraid of is, that he won't try it again.”
“We'll see; this highway-robbery must have an end. I must now be going. Good-bye!”
“Good-bye, Gilbert; take care o' yourself!” said Barton, in a very good humor, now that the uncomfortable interview was over. “And, I say,” he added, “remember that I stand ready to do you a good turn, whenever I can!”
“Thank you!” responded Gilbert, as he turned Roger's head; but he said to himself,—“when all other friends fail, I may come to you, not sooner.”
The next morning showed signs that the Indian Summer had reached its close. All night long the wind had moaned and lamented in the chimneys, and the sense of dread in the outer atmosphere crept into the house and weighed upon the slumbering inmates. There was a sound in the forest as of sobbing Dryads, waiting for the swift death and the frosty tomb. The blue haze of dreams which had overspread the land changed into an ashy, livid mist, dragging low, and clinging to the features of the landscape like a shroud to the limbs of a corpse.