He looked questioningly at the stranger. Prudence stepped forward.
“This is Joel Rae, Captain Girnway.”
They bowed, somewhat stiffly. Each was dark. Each had a face to attract women. But the captain was at peace with the world, neatly uniformed, well-fed, clean-shaven, smiling, pleasant to look upon, while the other was unshaven, hollow-cheeked, gaunt, roughly dressed, a thing that had been hunted and was now under ban. Each was at once sensible of the contrast between them, and each was at once affected by it: the captain to a greater jauntiness, a more effusive affability; the other to a stonier sternness.
“I am glad to know you have come, Mr. Rae. Your people have worried a little, owing to the unfortunate circumstances in which they have been placed.”
“I—I am obliged to you, sir, in their behalf, for your kindness to my father and mother and to Miss Corson here.”
“You are a thousand times welcome, sir. Can you tell me when you will wish to cross the river?”
“At the very earliest moment that God and the mob will let us. To-morrow morning, I hope.”
“This has not been agreeable to me, believe me—”
“Far less so to us, you may be sure; but we shall be content again when we can get away from all your whiggery, democratism, devilism, mobism!”
He spoke with rising tones, and the other flushed noticeably about the temples.