‘And free from cares,’ added the stranger. Then, looking through the window, he said, ‘A strange storm this. I was sauntering in the sunshine, when suddenly I found I had to gallop for my life. ‘Tis more like a white squall in the Mediterranean than anything else.’
‘I never was in the Mediterranean,’ said Coningsby. ‘There is nothing I should like so much as to travel.’
‘You are travelling,’ rejoined his companion. ‘Every moment is travel, if understood.’
‘Ah! but the Mediterranean!’ exclaimed Coningsby. ‘What would I not give to see Athens!’
‘I have seen it,’ said the stranger, slightly shrugging his shoulders, ‘and more wonderful things. Phantoms and spectres!’
‘The Age of Ruins is past. Have you seen Manchester?’
‘I have seen nothing,’ said Coningsby; ‘this is my first wandering. I am about to visit a friend who lives in this county, and I have sent on my baggage as I could. For myself, I determined to trust to a less common-place conveyance.’
‘And seek adventures,’ said the stranger, smiling, ‘Well, according to Cervantes, they should begin in an inn.’
‘I fear that the age of adventures is past, as well as that of ruins,’ replied Coningsby.
‘Adventures are to the adventurous,’ said the stranger.