As it dashed on, Oliver caught a glimpse of a man in a white nightcap, whose face seemed familiar to him, although his view was so brief that he could not identify the person. In another second or two, the nightcap was thrust out of the chaise-window, and a stentorian voice bellowed to the driver to stop: which he did, as soon as he could pull up his horses. Then, the nightcap once again appeared: and the same voice called Oliver by his name.
‘Here!’ cried the voice. ‘Oliver, what’s the news? Miss Rose! Master O-li-ver!’
‘Is is you, Giles?’ cried Oliver, running up to the chaise-door.
Giles popped out his nightcap again, preparatory to making some reply, when he was suddenly pulled back by a young gentleman who occupied the other corner of the chaise, and who eagerly demanded what was the news.
‘In a word!’ cried the gentleman, ‘Better or worse?’
‘Better—much better!’ replied Oliver, hastily.
‘Thank Heaven!’ exclaimed the gentleman. ‘You are sure?’
‘Quite, sir,’ replied Oliver. ‘The change took place only a few hours ago; and Mr. Losberne says, that all danger is at an end.’
The gentleman said not another word, but, opening the chaise-door, leaped out, and taking Oliver hurriedly by the arm, led him aside.
‘You are quite certain? There is no possibility of any mistake on your part, my boy, is there?’ demanded the gentleman in a tremulous voice. ‘Do not deceive me, by awakening hopes that are not to be fulfilled.’