“They’ve taken fright and run away!”
“The horses were too fresh; they’ve done no work lately.”
“Why didn’t they have post-horses from the Lion?”
“Sir Philip and Master Charles were both in it!”
“They weren’t: there was only one.”
“I tell you the chariot was empty.”
“Them two grooms have been at the ’all ale, that’s about it.”
“The carriage must be smashed!”
Remarks in a perfect, or rather imperfect, chaos jumbled one another as opinions were passed. But at last the news was taken to where, with the icy hand now clutching her heart, stood Laura, not fainting, but stern, pale, and erect, that there was nothing to fear, the grooms had evidently been drinking, and the horses had taken fright, but that the chariot was empty.
“Yes, yes, it’s all right. Here they come!” cried a voice at the door; and two bridesmaids about to faint, refrained—“here’s the barouche, and one, two—yes, there’s four inside.”