The unknown paused beside this carriage, still supporting the boy, Gulian, on his arm.
"Felix," he said, in a low voice, addressing the coachman, who started up at the sound of his voice, "drive at once, and with all speed, to the house yonder,"—he pointed to the north.
"Yes, my lord," was the answer of the coachman.
"And you, poor boy," continued the unknown, thus addressed as "my lord," turning to young Gulian,—"enter, and be safe hereafter from all fear of persecution." He opened the carriage door, and Gulian entered, followed by the unknown.
And the next moment the sound of the wheels was heard, and the carriage passing Union Square and rolling away toward the north.
Tarleton, who had, unobserved, beheld this scene, started from the shadows and approached the lamp. He clenched his teeth in helpless rage.
"I saw his face for an instant, ere he entered the carriage, and as his cloak fell aside, I noticed the golden cross on his breast; and I neither like his cadaverous face, nor the golden cross. Why,—" he stamped angrily upon the pavement,—"why do I hate and fear this man whom I have never seen before?—'my lord!'—the cross on his breast,—perchance a dignitary of the Catholic Church! Ah! he will wring the secret from this weak and superstitious boy. All, all is lost!"
He was roused from this fit of despair and rage by the sound of carriage wheels. It was a hackney coach, returning homeward, the horses weary, and the driver lolling sleepily on the box.
Tarleton darted forward and stopped the horses.
"Do you want to earn five dollars for an hour's ride?" he said, "if so, strike up Broadway, and follow a dark carriage drawn by two black horses," and he mounted the box, and took his seat beside the coachman.