This was always the condition of the street cars in war times, when authorities were as careless of the lives of horses as they were of those of men.
All private conversation was rendered impossible, and Mr. Force rode on in perfect silence, half suffocated by the close air and heavily pressed upon by a crowd of men standing up in the middle, hanging on by the straps and swaying to and fro against the forms of their fellow passengers.
At last—“long last”—the ordeal was over. The toiling horses reached the corner of the street on which their hotel was situated, and Mr. Force pulled the strap to stop the car, and with his companion slowly pushed, elbowed and worked his way out of the “black hole” in the open air.
“There is one comfort in this difficulty in getting out—though our clothes are often torn and our flesh scratched or bruised in the trial—yet it gives the wretched horses a minute’s rest,” said the squire, as, followed by Le, he made his way across the pavement to the ladies’ entrance of the house.
Here a great shock met him.
The earl, pale and grave, stood in the hall waiting for him.
He bowed to Le, and then took the arm of his brother-in-law, and said:
“Come with me, Force—lieutenant, you will find the young ladies in the parlor.”
Le, surprised and vaguely uneasy, hesitated for a moment, and then ran upstairs.
“What is the meaning of this, Enderby? What has happened?” anxiously inquired the squire.