“Very well,” she returned. “Light it again as soon as possible, for it is a fearful night, and I am anxious to gain a shelter.”
“Yes, mum.”
“How far is it before we can reach one?” she continued.
“About six or eight miles,” said the man with a low chuckle, as he bent over the refractory lamp which would not light.
“Blast it! there goes my last match,” he added, as it flickered, flared, and went out.
“Well, well, Thomas, never mind,” returned the lady, impatiently. “Let it go, and do the best you can with the other, only do hasten, for we are almost frightened to death in this darkness, and long for a comfortable room, with cheerful lights and a fire.”
“Yes, mum. All right, mum,” was the answer, as the man hastily climbed to his seat, and touched the horses with his whip, muttering with intense satisfaction.
“Neat little job that! neat little job; though I would rather have liked to see what became of that stupid coachman.”
The horses’ heads, during the struggle which had just occurred, had been adroitly turned to one side, and now in obedience to the reins, dashed on with the speed of the winds in an entirely different direction from that which they had been pursuing.
In fact, our unsuspicious travelers were being conveyed back to the very place whence they had just come.