Lawrence, hearing what the fellow said, rushed at him in a fit of maniacal fury, repeating, in a crescendo scale—
“You’d get me into a cab! You’d get me into a cab! You’d get me into a cab! I’d kill you first.” The man shrank back as if fearful that his last hour had come.
We went out of the station, a motley crowd—Lawrence with Miss Moore, and me close at his heels; behind, before, on either side, a miscellaneous assemblage of fools. I would have prevented her from coming had I had my way. I told her so at starting; but she whispered in my ear—
“I’m not afraid. Are you?”
“I am afraid for you—of these blackguards; of the mood he’s in; of where he’s taking us; of what may happen. I don’t know what devil’s trick it is he has been playing, but I’m sure it is a devil’s trick, and there may be worse to come.”
“I’m safe with you.”
“I doubt it.”
“But I am sure. The light is coming; I’d like to see the brightness of the day, for mine honour’s sake, which I thought might be a consideration, perhaps, with you. Still, I’m under orders. If you bid me I will go. But—mayn’t I come?”
I could deny her nothing which she asked in such a tone, though it were an apple out of Eden. But I was gruff.
“Then take my arm.”