“Have you come down to meet me?” I asked.
“Yes; old Randall’s gone out to dinner, so he asked Cis and me to come and fetch you. Cart’s outside; but we can’t take all the luggage. Just look out what you want, will you, and we’ll send for the rest to-morrow.”
I selected a portmanteau and followed him out of the station. A light, four-wheeled brown cart was waiting, drawn by a pair of small, clever-looking cobs, altogether a very smart turnout.
“Pitch that bag in behind, porter,” ordered my new acquaintance. “Now, then, Mr. Morton, if you’re ready we’ll be off. Your train’s half an hour late, and Cis will be wondering what’s become of us.”
“Is Cis Mr. Ravenor’s nephew, Silchester?” I asked, as I clambered up beside him.
“Oh, yes! By the bye, I ought to have introduced myself, oughtn’t I? My name is de Cartienne—Leonard de Cartienne.”
“And are you Dr. Randall’s other pupil?” I inquired.
“Yes; I’m doing a grind there. Beastly slow it is, too. You’ll be sorry you’ve come, I can tell you, before very long.”
Looking around me, I was inclined to think that that was not improbable. It was too dark to see far, but what I could see was anything but promising. The country was perfectly flat, dreary, and barren, and the view was unbroken by tree, or hedge, or hill. By the side of the road was a small canal, over the sullen waters of which, and across the road, brooded spectral-like clouds of mist. The rain still fell rapidly, and the wheels of our cart ran noiselessly in the sandy, paste-like mud.
“Ghastly night, isn’t it?” remarked my companion, breaking the silence again.