I did drive on at my fastest. I soon reached the little station-house; but before that I had decided that it might not be very safe to trust Johnston in such a place for the night, and I passed it without stopping. At last the lights of the city appeared in front of us, and my companion roused himself to watch them with growing interest.
“What town is this?” he at length asked.
“Edinburgh,” I shortly answered.
“What! Edinburgh?” he cried, almost jumping up from his seat. “How can that be? I thought we were driving towards Bathgate?”
“We were at first, but I changed my mind and turned back. Want to get down, or will you go further?”
He considered the matter, though I was really laughing at him in my sleeve while making the suggestion; for, as may be guessed, I had no intention of allowing him to get down—alone. Then he said ruefully—
“Which way are you going?”
“Round by the back of the Castle towards the High Street,” was my prompt answer; and he directed me to drive on, signifying that he was going that way too—which was perfectly true. At the Puseyite Chapel he touched me on the arm and said—“I’ll get down here, sir, if you please.”
I was driving along at a great speed and appeared not to hear him, and in a moment more we were tearing into the brightly-lighted Lawnmarket and High Street.
“I wanted to get down,” he said reproachfully, and a little angrily, as we went careering madly down the street.