“William Peach to Christopher, Neuwied, in Nassau.
“The Viscount died yesterday, at four p. m. Lawyers want A. B.'s address immediately.
“Proceedings already begun.”
Davis devoured the lines four—five times over, and then muttered between his teeth, “Safe enough now,—the match as good as over!”
“I say, George,” said one of the young travellers to his companion, “our friend in the green frock must have got news of a prize in the lottery. Did you ever see anything like his eyes? They actually lit up the blue spectacles.”
“Clap the saddle on that black horse,” cried Grog, as he passed into the stable; “give him a glass of Kirsch-wasser and bring him round to the door.”
“He knows how to treat an old poster,” said the ostler; “it's not the first ride he has taken on a courier's saddle.”
CHAPTER XI. HOW GROG DAVIS DISCOURSED, AND ANNESLEY BEECHER LISTENED
When Davis reached the little inn at evening, he was surprised to learn that Annesley Beecher had passed the day alone. Lizzy complained of headache, and kept her room. Grog listened to this with a grave, almost stern look; he partly guessed that the ailment was a mere pretext; he knew better to what to attribute her absence. They dined tête-à-tête; but there was a constraint over each, and there was little of that festive enjoyment that graced the table on the day before. Beecher was revolving in his mind all the confessions that burdened his conscience about Stein and the mystical volume he had bought from him; the large sums he had drawn for were also grievous loads upon his heart, and he knew not in what temper or spirit Davis would hear of them. Grog, too, had many things in his head; not, indeed, that he meant to reveal them, but they were like secret instructions to his own heart, to be referred to for guidance and direction.