“I hope nothing will come of it,” Vaughan answered, interested in spite of himself. “You’re in command, sir, of course?”
“Yes, and I wish to heaven I were not! But there, there!” he continued, pulling himself up as if he kept a watch on himself and feared that he had said too much. “Enough of my business. What are you doing here?”
“Well, I was going to Chippinge.”
“Come to Bath with me! I shall see Wetherell, and you know him. You may be of use to me. There’s half the chaise at your service, and I will tell you about it, as we go.”
Vaughan at that moment cared little where he went, and after the briefest hesitation, he consented. A few minutes later they started together. It happened that as they drove in the last of the twilight over the long stone bridge, an open car drawn by four horses and containing a dozen rough-looking men overtook them and raced them for a hundred yards.
“There’s another!” Brereton said, rising with an oath and looking after it. “I was told that two had gone through!”
“What is it? Who are they?” Vaughan asked, leaning out on his side to see.
“Midland Union men, come to stir up the Bristol lambs!” Brereton answered. “They may spare themselves the trouble,” he continued bitterly. “The fire will need no poking, I’ll be sworn!”
And brought back to the subject, he never ceased from that moment to talk of it. It was plain to anyone who knew him that a nervous excitability had taken the place of his usual thoughtfulness. Long before they reached Bath, Vaughan was sure that, whatever his own troubles, there was one man in the world more unhappy than himself, more troubled, less at ease; and that that man sat beside him in the chaise.
He believed that Brereton exaggerated the peril. But if his fears were well-based, then he agreed that the soldiers sent were too few.