‘So be it!’ said the horseman, looking intently towards the fire, and not at him who spoke.
‘But sir—sir,’ cried the man, grasping at his rein more tightly yet, ‘if you do go on, wear the blue riband. Here, sir,’ he added, taking one from his own hat, ‘it’s necessity, not choice, that makes me wear it; it’s love of life and home, sir. Wear it for this one night, sir; only for this one night.’
‘Do!’ cried the three friends, pressing round his horse. ‘Mr Haredale—worthy sir—good gentleman—pray be persuaded.’
‘Who’s that?’ cried Mr Haredale, stooping down to look. ‘Did I hear Daisy’s voice?’
‘You did, sir,’ cried the little man. ‘Do be persuaded, sir. This gentleman says very true. Your life may hang upon it.’
‘Are you,’ said Mr Haredale abruptly, ‘afraid to come with me?’
‘I, sir?—N-n-no.’
‘Put that riband in your hat. If we meet the rioters, swear that I took you prisoner for wearing it. I will tell them so with my own lips; for as I hope for mercy when I die, I will take no quarter from them, nor shall they have quarter from me, if we come hand to hand to-night. Up here—behind me—quick! Clasp me tight round the body, and fear nothing.’
In an instant they were riding away, at full gallop, in a dense cloud of dust, and speeding on, like hunters in a dream.
It was well the good horse knew the road he traversed, for never once—no, never once in all the journey—did Mr Haredale cast his eyes upon the ground, or turn them, for an instant, from the light towards which they sped so madly. Once he said in a low voice, ‘It is my house,’ but that was the only time he spoke. When they came to dark and doubtful places, he never forgot to put his hand upon the little man to hold him more securely in his seat, but he kept his head erect and his eyes fixed on the fire, then, and always.