“North? What ill fortune! For an instant I thought myself happy. North!—but surely, sir, your necessity for going on at once is not as great as ours: it cannot be. If you knew the case—the lady is waiting yonder in the darkness, trembling with anxiety as to our fate. Our whole future, sir, hangs upon the next few minutes. Dare I ask you—nay, dare I refrain from asking you—to resign this conveyance to us? There will be another available at midnight. Your business certainly is not so urgent.”
“My business, sir, is as urgent as any can be. It has the first claim on me, much as I would fain serve you. I dare not lose an hour.”
“But, good heaven, sir, have I not told you my affair is one of life or death?”
“And so is mine,” said the strange gentleman, stepping back to be out of range of the chaise-lamp, which the postilion had now lighted.
Everell followed into the darker gloom, pleading desperately: “But consider, sir, my case concerns the happiness of a woman.”
“Mine concerns the safety of a man.”
“Good God!” exclaimed Everell, maddened at the other’s phlegmatic brevity of speech. “To see these horses ready for the road, to need them as I do, to know how she must suffer if I—Sir, I entreat you: I must have these horses: I demand them in the sacred name of love.”
“I require them in the sacred interest of friendship,” was the answer.
“Friendship!” laughed Everell, scornfully. “The love of man and woman—do you know what that is?”
“None knows better; but at present I serve the friendship of man for man. One task at a time. Were I not entered upon this, I would do much to oblige you. I can only wish you better fortune than you expect; and—good night.” With that the stranger went toward the chaise, all being now ready for departure.