"Oh! is the dread ordeal so near at hand?" he exclaimed, with a temporary revival of bitterness of spirit. "Scarcely separated from him by a distance of two hundred yards—a distance so soon cleared—and yet—and yet——"
At that instant he caught sight of the figure of his wife, who, having advanced a few paces in front of her companions, stood more conspicuously than they upon the brow of the hill.
"She anxiously awaits my coming!" he murmured to himself. "Oh! why do I hesitate?"
And, as he spoke, he was about to emerge from the shade of the high hedge which concealed him,—about to turn the angle of the road, whereby he would immediately be perceived by those who stood on the hill,—when his attention was suddenly called elsewhere.
For, no sooner had the words—"Oh! why do I hesitate?" issued from his lips, than a post-chaise, which was dashing along the road towards London at a rapid rate, upset only a few paces from the spot where he had paused to glance towards the hill.
One of the fore-wheels of the vehicle had come off; and the chaise rolled over with a heavy crash.
The postillion instantly stopped his horses; while a man—the only traveller whom the vehicle contained—emerged from the door that was uppermost, and which he had contrived to open.
All this occurred so rapidly that the traveller stood in the road a few instants after the upsetting of the chaise.
Greenwood drew near to inquire if he were hurt: but, scarcely had his eyes caught a glimpse of that man's features, when he uttered a cry of mingled rage and delight, and sprang towards him.
For that traveller was Lafleur!