"Is it so necessary to reach the city to-night?" he asked after a pause.
"I had planned to do so."
The answer was characteristic of the man. As a boy, when he had made up his mind to do a thing, he did it, even though well-merited punishment might follow, and the boy was father to the man. Save in years and experience, this was the same Richard Barrington who had dreamed as he watched sunlit sails disappear in the haze over Chesapeake Bay.
"I was thinking of the horses," said Seth. "I reckon that we have a long way to travel yet."
"We may get others presently," Barrington answered, and then, after a moment's pause, he went on: "We have seen some strange sights since we landed—ruined homes, small and great, burned and desolated by the peasants; and in the last few hours we have heard queer tales. I do not know how matters stand, but it looks as if we might be useful in Paris. That is why we must push on."
"Master Richard," he said slowly.
"Yes."
"Have you ever considered how useless a man may be?"
"Ay, often, and known such men."
"You do not catch my meaning. I am talking of a man who is full of courage and determination, yet just because he is only one is powerless. A lion might be killed by rats if there were enough rats."