Mammy, having asked and obtained leave, lay down upon the front seat.
The remainder of their journey passed monotonously enough, being varied only by the stopping of the coach at the regular post-houses to change horses, and by the altercations between mammy and the guard relative to the safety of “them there two little red morocky trunks,” which the guard mentally consigned to the demon full fifty times before they reached their destination.
About noon they stopped to change horses at a small hamlet, where they were joined by other passengers—two honest, good-humored-looking countrymen, who immediately upon their entrance, began to talk of the great wedding which was to come off that same night at Old Lyon Hall.
From their talk Drusilla understood that she was approaching the neighborhood of the old manor.
Deeply interested in the subject of their conversation, she first forced herself to listen calmly, and then to speak.
“Can you tell me how far we are from Old Lyon Hall?” she inquired of the elder man.
“Well, goodness, no, Miss, not exactly; though if I were to hazard a guess, I should say betwixt twenty and thirty miles, more or less,” answered the man.
“What is the nearest point at which the road passes the hall?” she next inquired.
“Well, for the life of me, Miss, I could not tell! But the nearest stopping-place is Saulsburg; and that’s pretty near twenty miles off here, I know. Might you be going to the Old Hall, Miss?” inquired the traveller, feeling quite free to follow her example and ask questions in his turn.
“I am going to Saulsburg,” answered Drusilla, evasively.