AS CHANCE DECREED
Mischance delayed the carriage of Beau Wilson in its journeying to Bloomsbury Square. It had not appeared at that moment, far toward evening, when John Law, riding a trembling and dripping steed, came upon one side of this little open common and gazed anxiously across the space. He saw standing across from him a carriage, toward which he dashed. He flung open the carriage door, crying out, even before he saw the face within.
"Will! Will Law, I say, come out!" called he. "What mad trick is this? What—"
He saw indeed the face of Will Law inside the carriage, a face pale, melancholy, and yet firm.
"Get you back into the city!" cried Will Law. "This is no place for you, Jack."
"Boy! Are you mad, entirely mad?" cried Law, pushing his way directly into the carriage and reaching out with an arm of authority for the sword which he saw resting beside his brother against the seat. "No place for me! 'Tis no place for you, for either of us. Turn back. This foolishness must go no further!"
"It must go on now to the end," said Will Law, wearily. "Mr. Wilson's carriage is long past due."
"But you—what do you mean? You've had no hand in this. Even had you—why, boy, you would be spitted in an instant by this fellow."
"And would not that teach you to cease your mad pranks, and use to better purpose the talents God hath given you? Yours is the better chance, Jack."
"Peace!" cried John Law, tears starting to his eyes. "I'll not argue that. Driver, turn back for home!"