Dum res et ætas et sororum,
Fila trium patiuntur atra!’”
So murmuring, I rose as from a dream, and saw before me a strange figure—a figure, uncouth, sinister, ominous as the evil genius that startled Brutus on the eve of Philippi. I knew by an unmistakable instinct that that figure was an evil genius.
“Do you want me? Who and what are you?” I asked, falteringly.
“Please your honour, I come express from the N—— Station. A telegram.”
I opened the scrap of paper extended to me, and read these words,—
“O—— positively brings on his motion. Announced it last night too late for post. Division certain—probably before dinner. Every vote wanted. Come directly.”
Said the Express with a cruel glee, as I dropped the paper, “Sir, the station-master also received a telegram to send over a fly. I have brought one; only just in time to catch the half-past twelve o’clock; no other train till six. You had best be quick, sir.”
No help for it. I hurried back to the house, bade my servant follow by the next train with my portmanteau—no moments left to wait for packing; found Tracey in his quiet study—put the telegram into his hands. “You see my excuse—adieu.”
“Does this motion, then, interest you so much? Do you mean to speak on it?”