“Pity, Robin—a great pity,” said I, hastily strapping up my bag, “but no doubt he’ll come here again to see you.—Now, don’t forget to take over that parcel of tea and sugar, etcetera, to Mrs Willis. Go as soon as you can.” Saying this, I left the house.
The new residence of the old woman being now so near to Hoboy Crescent the parcel was soon delivered, and Robin officiated at the opening of it, also at the preparing and consuming of some of its contents. Of course he chatted vigorously, as was his wont, but was particularly careful to make not the most distant allusion to the Slogger or his reports, being anxious not to arouse her hopes until he should have some evidence that they were on a true scent. Indeed, he was so fearful of letting slip some word or remark on the subject and thereby awakening suspicion and giving needless pain, that he abstained from all reference to the meeting of that evening, and launched out instead into wonderful and puzzling theological speculations, of which he was very fond.
Meanwhile I was carried swiftly into the country. The lamp in my carriage was too dim to permit of reading; I therefore wrapped myself in my rug and indulged in pleasant meditations.
It was past midnight when I arrived at the station for Bingley Manor, where I found a gig awaiting me. A sharp drive of half an hour and I was at the mansion door.
Dr McTougall was right. There was little the matter with old Mrs Gordon, but the family were nervous, and rich—hence my visit. I did what was necessary for the patient, comforted the rest by my presence, had a sound night’s rest, an early breakfast, a pleasant drive in the fresh frosty air, and a brief wait of five minutes, when the punctual train came up.
There is something inexpressibly delightful in a ride, on a sharp frosty morning, in an express train. I have always felt a wild bounding sensation of joy in rapid motion. The pace at which we went that morning was exceptionally charming. Had I known that the engine-driver was intoxicated perhaps it might not have been quite so exhilarating, but I did not know that. I sat comfortably in my corner thinking of Edith, and gazing with placid benignity at the frosted trees and bushes which sparkled in the red wintry sun.
Yes, it was a glorious ride! I never had a better. The part of the country through which we passed was lovely. One can always gaze comfortably at the distant landscape from a railway carriage, however great the speed. As for the immediate foreground, it reminded me of a race—houses, trees, farms, towns, villages, hamlets, horses, sheep, cattle, poultry, hayricks, brickfields, were among the competitors in that race. They rushed in mad confusion to the rear. I exulted in the pace. Not so a stout elderly gentleman in the opposite corner, who evidently disliked it—so true is it that “one man’s meat is another’s poison.”
“There is no reason to fear, sir,” said I, with a smile, by way of reassuring him. “This is a most excellently managed line—one never hears of accidents on it.”
“Too fast just now, anyhow,” returned the elderly gentleman testily.
Just then the whistle was heard sounding violently.