"I can't bear the thought of him there, surrounded by enemies, and I, out here—safe and protected. Why didn't you come for me sooner, Uncle Felix!" Natalia cried. "Drive faster, Zebby! Lash the horses!"
Though the carriage rocked from side to side, and the horses were galloping at their utmost speed, urged on by the singing whip, it seemed to Natalia they were dragging along inch by inch.
At last she loosened her hold of Judge Houston's arm and leaned back against the cushions.
"My wedding night!" she murmured, covering her face with her hands. "My wedding night!"
Finally the lights of the town twinkled down the road.
"Here is the town, Natalia," Judge Houston cried, putting his arm across her shoulders and drawing her to him. "We shall be there in a few minutes now and you will see that he is safe, as I told you."
Zebediah cracked his whip incessantly, and in a few minutes more the suburbs had been passed and the street lights were about them. The town seemed utterly deserted, a quiet gloom hovering over the darkened houses, until they drew near the Mansion House Tavern. Here people were standing in excited groups. A block beyond the street was a seething mass of men. Standing on the fence of the courthouse yard, a rough, savage faced man was inciting the crowd, gesticulating wildly to make himself heard above the noise. There was a deep, vibrating murmur rising from the crowd, filling the air with a foreboding sound. On all sides one could read plainly indignation and violent antagonism.
Judge Houston's face grew pale and set as they drew nearer the jail. One glance at the crowd had told him what it represented. Already the mutterings of that great trouble which was a few years later to separate a united country, had begun to spread; into the midst of these people had come a man from the centre of the opposition country, who had proclaimed his beliefs and fought for them, killing his opponent in the difficulty. The feeling of the masses centred against this stranger.
The old gentleman who had weathered the years of pioneer life and had seen the deep-rooted evil widening the breach, knew that Morgan Talbot's life hung in the balance. The crowd about him bespoke its ingredients—the lower elements of the town, inflamed by the followers of Jervais into a recklessness that meant almost anything. He also realized that the best element—the friends he could call upon to defend Talbot—were all guests at the wedding and had not yet returned to the town.
"I cyant go no fudder, Jedge."