CHAPTER XIX.
WHITHER?
"Drive fast, Dan, I am in a great hurry," said Reynolds, as the mares again moved gently along the road in the direction of Montgomery.
The negro waved his whip above the backs of the spirited animals, starting them into a rapid trot. The wheels made little noise on the light sandy surface over which they whirled. Reynolds sat bolt upright, looking neither to the right nor to the left, his vision introverted. He was calm as marble, so far as outward appearance went, and inwardly there was no commotion, but a cold, dull, smothering sense of defeat and despair.
The woods on either side of the road were dull and soundless, save that, where the tall clumps of pines shot above the rest of the trees, their tops let fall a mellow roar which the slightest breeze has power to awaken in their frondous meshes.
The negro presently began to sing, in a strangely melodious undertone, an old, old Alabama ditty;
"Oh, poor Lucy Neal,
Oh, poor Lucy Neal,
And if I had you by my side,
How happy I would feel!"
Reynolds started, clenched his hands and began to breathe hard.
"Dan," he cried, "drive back, drive back, I can't bear it!"
Dan pulled up the mares and turned round in his seat:
"What yo' say, boss?" he inquired, touching his hat and but half repressing his surprise.