Toward dawn we all lost ourselves for a few minutes. I first aroused, and, through the interstices beside the curtains, perceived the gray light of morning. It was six o'clock, and we were but four miles from Bangor, the driver informed us.
Only four miles! but how long they seemed! The cars left at half past seven o'clock, and the daylight was fast advancing.
'Shall we after all get there in time?' said I.
'Not in time for breakfast, I imagine,' replied the Englishman, resignedly.
At last came the welcome announcement, 'Bangor! There is Bangor!'
'Where is it? I do not see it,' said I, looking eagerly out into the gray morning mist.
'Why, there, to be sure! Don't you see that steeple? There's another! and there's another!'
Yes, surely there was Bangor at last, welcome to me as ever the Holy City to the penance-worn pilgrim.
In my gratitude, I overflowed with benignity to all the world, and even granted the poor Frenchman permission to enjoy his pipe, a privilege of which he made haste to avail himself. It was an ill-timed charity, to be sure, but I could well afford to submit to the temporary discomfort in the fulness of my satisfaction.
The driver hastened the horses. With ever-increasing speed we passed the lowly cottages in the suburbs, where people were getting up and preparing breakfast by candle light, and at last the 'three grays' cantered triumphantly to the —— Hotel—in time for breakfast, too!