For a moment the flinching Mr. Yokes paused to eye the levelled cane, the ready hand and fierce grey eyes behind it, then spoke the desired words in voice scarcely audible by reason of pain and passion; but they sufficed, the cane was lowered, the whip cracked, and forthwith into the yard filed landlord, ostler and postillion with us at their heels. And here by aid of flickering lanthorns, amid wind and rain, the horses were harnessed and put to, the chaise brought to the door where stood one cloaked and hooded who, with Anthony's ready assistance, climbed nimbly into the chaise.
"Anthony—your pistol!" and I handed it to him. "Take care," said I, as he thrust it carelessly into his bosom.
"Tush!" he laughed, "had it been loaded I should have blown out what brains I have days ago!"
"Good-bye, Anthony!" said I, and, or ever he could prevent, thrust a guinea into his hand. For a moment I thought he would toss it in my face, then he thrust it into his pocket.
"Egad, Perry!" said he, seizing my hand in his vital clasp. "You are a devilish—likeable fellow and—d'ye see—what I mean is—oh, dammit! Look for me at Tonbridge." Having said which, he sprang down the steps, entered the chaise and banged to the door. But now at the open window was a lovely face. "Good-bye—Peregrine," and with the word she reached out her hand to me.
"Good-bye," said I.
"Barbara," she suggested.
"Good-bye, Barbara!" said I, and lifted the hand to my lips.
"At Tonbridge, Perry!" repeated Anthony.
"At Tonbridge!" said I, whereupon the postillion vituperated the rain and wind, chirruped to his horses, and the chaise rolled away into the tempestuous dark.