CHAPTER III.
In the meanwhile Mr Nicholas Clam, and the lady leaning on his arm, had proceeded in silence, for the lady's thoughts were so absorbed that she paid no attention to the many prefatory coughs with which her companion was continually clearing his throat. He thought of fifty different ways of commencing a conversation, and putting an end to the rapid pace they were going at. But onward still hurried the lady, and breathless, tired, disconcerted, and very much perplexed, Mr Clam was obliged to continue at her side.
"This all comes of Mrs Moss writing a book," he muttered, "and being a philosophical character. What business had she to go publishing all that wonderful big volume above my mantel-piece—'Woman's Dignity; developed in Dialogues?' Without that she never would have found out that I could not be a sympathizing companion without the advantages of travel, and I never should have left number four, to be quarrelled with by every whipper-snapper of a soldier, and dragged to death by a woman unknown—a synonymous personage, as Mrs M. would say, that I encountered in a coach. 'Pon my word, ma'am," he added aloud, driven to desperation by fear of apoplexy from the speed they were hurrying on with, "this is carrying matters a little too far, or a great deal too fast at least. Will you let me ask you one question, ma'am?"
"Certainly, sir," replied the lady; "but oh, do not delay!"
"But I must delay though, for who do you think can have breath enough both to speak and run? And now, will you tell me, ma'am, what all this is about—why that young soldier and I were forced to quarrel—what you came down from London for, and what you are going to do at the barracks?"
"You will hear it all, sir; you shall know all when we arrive. But do not harrow my feelings at present, I beseech you. It may all end well, if we are in time; but if not"—
The look of the lady, and her tone as she said this, did not by any means contribute to Mr Clam's satisfaction. However, he perceived at once that further attempts to penetrate the mystery would be useless, and he kept musing on the strangeness of the circumstance, as profoundly puzzled as before. On getting into the barrack-yard, the lady muffled herself in her veil more closely than ever, and asked one of the soldiers she met in the archway, if Captain Hope "was in his room?"
"He's not come ashore yet, ma'am," said the soldier, "we expect him every moment with the last detachment from the transport."
"Not come yet?" exclaimed the lady; "which way will they march in?"
"Up the Main Street, and across the drawbridge," said the soldier, goodnaturedly.