Again the whistle was heard, and with the sharp crack of a whip, denoting impatience; and fearful that some accident might betray his secret, George clasped the old man's hand fervidly within his own, and hurried away without a word.
“Is that George?” cried Norwood, as he stood beside a calessino ready harnessed, and with lamps lighted, for the morning was still dark, “is that George? Why, where have you been loitering this half-hour, man? Our time is six sharp, and it is now considerably past five, and the way lies all up hill.”
“I have often done the distance in half an hour,” said George, angrily.
“Perhaps the errand was a pleasanter one,” rejoined Norwood, laughing; “but jump in, for I feel certain the others are before us.”
George Onslow was in no mood for talking as he took his seat beside his companion. The late scene with his father and the approaching event were enough to occupy him, even had his feeling for Norwood been different from what it was; but in reality never had he experienced the same dislike for the Viscount. All the flippant ease, all the cool indifference he displayed, were only so many offences to one whose thoughts were traversing the whole current of his life, from earliest boyhood down to that very moment. A few hours hence he might be no more! And thence arose to his mind the judgments men would pass upon him, the few who would speak charitably, the still fewer who would regret him. “What a career!” thought he. “What use to have made of fortune, station, health, and vigor; to have lived in dissipation, and die for a street brawl! And poor Kate! to what unfeeling scandal will this unhappy meeting expose you! how impossible to expect that truth will ever penetrate through that dark atmosphere of mystery and malevolence the world will throw over the event!”
Norwood was provoked at the silence, and tried in various ways to break it. He spoke of the road, the weather, the horse's trotting action, the scenery, over which the breaking day now threw fitful and uncertain lights, but all in vain; and at last, piqued by non-success, he spitefully pointed attention to a little valley beside the road, and said, “Do you see that spot yonder, near the pine-trees? that 's where Harry Mathews was shot. Malzahn sent the bullet through the brain at forty paces. They were both first-rate pistol-shots, and the only question was who should fire first. Harry determined to reserve his shot, and he carried the privilege into the other world with him. Malzahn knew he might trust his skill, and fired the very instant he took his ground. The moral of which is, always try and have first fire with a foreigner.”
“I heard the sound of wheels behind us; who are they?” said George, not heeding either the story or the counsel.
“The doctor, I suspect. I ordered a calessino to wait for him at the door of the palace, and bring him up as fast as possible.”
“If Guilmard be equal to his reputation, we shall not want his services,” said Onslow, with a faint smile.
“Who can tell? We 'll put you up at a short distance; and there 's nothing shakes the nerves of your practised pistol-shot more than ten or twelve paces.”