“I told you before,” said Sir Norman, rather impatiently, “that I have seen nothing—at least, nothing you would care about; and my horse is waiting me at the Golden Crown.”
“Very well, we have no time to lose; so get there as fast as you can, and mount him and ride as if the demon were after you back to London.”
“Back to London? Is the man crazy? I shall do no such thing, let me tell you, to-night.”
“Oh, just as you please,” said Ormiston, with a great deal of indifference, considering the urgent nature of his former request. “You can do as you like, you know, and so can I—which translated, means, I will go and tell her you have declined to come.”
“Tell her? Tell whom? What are you talking about? Hang it, man!” exclaimed Sir Norman, getting somewhat excited and profane, “what are you driving at? Can't you speak out and tell me at once?”
“I have told you!” said Ormiston, testily: “and I tell you again, she sent me in search of you, and if you don't choose to come, that's your own affair, and not mine.”
This was a little too much for Sir Norman's overwrought feelings, and in the last degree of exasperation, he laid violent hands on the collar of Ormiston's doublet, and shook him as if he would have shaken the name out with a jerk.
“I tell you what it is, Ormiston, you had better not aggravate me! I can stand a good deal, but I'm not exactly Moses or Job, and you had better mind what you're at. If you don't come to the point at once, and tell me who I she is, I'll throttle you where you stand; and so give you warning.”
Half-indignant, and wholly laughing, Ormiston stepped back out of the way of his excited friend.
“I cry you mercy! In one word, then, I have been dispatched by a lady in search of you, and that lady is—Leoline.”