"Here, ostler, groom—quickly, here!" cried Ashwoode. "In the devil's name, where are you?"
The ostler presented himself, gazing in unfeigned astonishment at the distracted, pale, and bleeding figure before him.
"Where have you put my horse?" said Ashwoode.
"The boy's whisping him down in the back stable, your honour," replied he.
"Have him saddled and bridled in three seconds," said Ashwoode, striding before the man towards the place indicated. "I'll make it worth your while. My life—my life depends on it!"
"Never fear," said the fellow, quickening his pace, "may I never buckle a strap if I don't."
With these words, they entered the stable together, but the horse was not there.
"Confound them, they brought him to the dark stable, I suppose," said the groom, impatiently. "Come along, sir."
"'Sdeath! it will be too late! Quick!—quick, man!—in the fiend's name, be quick!" said Ashwoode, glaring fearfully towards the entrance to the inn-yard.
Their visit to the second stable was not more satisfactory.