“The mare’s fresh and spankey,” said John Gilsland; “she’s enough to manage without any whispering in her lug. Jump up behind, Mr. Horry, and tawlk as we goo. It’ll be straight to the railroad now?”
“Have you not been going straight to the railroad?” asked Susan, in surprise.
“Straight! I trust you thought me of sufficient importance to bring you five miles out of your way,” said Horace, sharply, “and lose your train too, most likely. Why didn’t you drive as she ordered you, Gilsland? What good can I do her? Look sharp now, then, can’t you? Well, Susan, what’s this sudden journey about?”
“Oh, Horace! can’t you guess?” said Susan, looking at him wistfully. “But, hush!—never mind,” she added, as she encountered his angry stare of inquiry. “Oh, hush! I’ll tell you everything when we get there!”
And from that moment the most eager wish to get there moved poor Susan. His angry dissatisfaction at being stopped; his cold salutation; his apparent resentment at the idea that he could know anything about her journey or its cause; the tone in which he repelled her confidential whispers, and repeated aloud what she had said to him with all the little pantomimic exhortations to secrecy which were possible to her; brought a renewed chill upon her heart. They went along at a great pace, the mare, however, being the only individual of the party who showed the least exhilaration or pleasure on the road. Would that John Gilsland had been less considerate of the sister’s desire to overtake her brother! Would that he had gone the straight road, and made less demonstration of his kindly intentions! After all, the straight road is the best; but to hear Horace Scarsdale angrily insisting upon that plain fact, and upon the folly of making so long a detour to overtake him, was not calculated to raise anybody’s spirits, or to make the drive more agreeable. John Gilsland’s talk, which Susan had only half listened to, was much better than the sharp, dropping conversation which now went on at intervals; and Susan bought at a sufficiently hard price her momentary ease and relief.
“Where are you going, Horace?” she asked, with hesitation—“away from Kenlisle, Peggy said——”
“I am going to Harliflax,” he said, shortly. “I have got a better appointment there. I have managed to make my own way so far, you can tell my uncle—without being obliged to any one,” he added, with a sneer.
“And will you write sometimes, please, Horace?” said Susan. “There are only two of us in the world; and tell me, where shall I write to you?”
He laughed, as if this was an extremely unimportant matter. “I shall be with Mr. Stenhouse,” he said—“Julius Stenhouse, Esq. I daresay your letters will find me, with his name.”
“Stenhouse, said ye? Eyeh, Mr. Horry, will that be the Stenhouse that was i’ Kenlisle, in ould Pouncet’s office?” asked John Gilsland, suddenly looking round.