The horses sighed, and the men subsided into their nap, a long ride on the previous evening having made them particularly drowsy.
“Talking in their sleep,” said the veiled figure, raising herself and trying the handle of the chaise door, opening it, and reaching in to make sure whether it was tenanted or no.
“Not come,” she sighed. “He must be late, or else I’ve missed him. He is looking for me. Oh, what a wicked girl I am! What’s that?”
She turned sharply round, darting behind the chaise and among the trees as a faint sound was heard; and this directly after took the form of footsteps, a short slight man approaching on the other side of the road, stopping to gaze at the chaise and then backing slowly into the low bush-like trees, which effectually hid him from sight.
There was utter stillness again for a few moments, when the dull sound of steps was once more heard, and another short slight figure approached armed with a stout cane.
He kept to the grass and walked straight up to the sleeping postboys, examined them, and then stood listening.
“Just in time,” he said to himself. “Drowsy dogs! Ha—ha—ha! I wish Dick Linnell were here. I should like the fool to see her go. Hang it! I’d have given Harry Payne fifty to help him on the road if he had asked me. Get rid of her for good, curse her! I’m sick of the whole lot. Eh! What, the devil—”
“What are you doing here, Burnett?” said Richard Linnell, crossing the road from the Downs in company with Mellersh.
“What am I doing? Taking the air. Did you think I was going to elope in a post-chaise. Hist! don’t speak aloud or you’ll wake the boys. But, I say—hang it all—have I been humbugged? Was it you then who were going off with Claire, and not Sir Harry Payne?”
“Do you want me to horsewhip you, Burnett?” cried Linnell in a low, passionate voice.