“Take Antony on with you, Captain,” whispered Harrington.
The Captain silently put on his clothes, and taking the fugitive by the arm, led him up the dark lane. Bagasse and Wentworth hurriedly resumed their garments, and assisted Harrington to rise and leave the leaning boat. He was very weak, his noble masculine vigor nearly drained away, but his resolute soul still upbore him, and he could walk feebly, though with heavy and tottering knees. Upheld by the strong hold around him, and leaning on their shoulders with clasping arms, he advanced with them up the lane. They wanted to carry him, but not wishing to let Antony know his condition, he refused.
The cool air was full of delicious summer fragrance, as they went on through the glimmering darkness. In a few minutes they heard the snorting and pawing of horses, and looking up the road, saw the carriage at some little distance. Leaving Harrington to the charge of Bagasse, Wentworth ran forward, told John Todd to stay where he was, and mounting the box, turned the horses and drove the hack down. Antony and the Captain got in, then Bagasse and Harrington coming up, entered also, and Wentworth turning the horses again drove up the street, stopped for an instant to take up John Todd on the box beside him; and away they rolled rapidly over the smooth road.
It was then between two and three o’clock. Everything had been successfully managed, and to his dying day John Todd never knew who the occupants of the carriage were. Wentworth was taciturn, and after a few remarks, finding he got no answer, John left off talking, and they went on in silence.
Through the dark, deserted streets of South Boston they rolled rapidly, and over the long bridge they rapidly rumbled, silent within the carriage and without. Then over the rattling pavements into Dover, and up Tremont street to Park, and into Mount Vernon to Temple, where Wentworth reined in the smoking and pawing horses.
“Get down, John,” said he, “wait here for five minutes, then walk down Temple street, where you’ll find the carriage, and drive it back to the stables. I’ll see you to-morrow. Now do exactly as I tell you.”
“Just as you say, Mr. Wentworth,” returned the boy, getting down, and wondering what all this meant anyway.
Wentworth at once drove the horses down the declivity of Temple street, drew them up at the door of the lighted house, and with a bursting heart, leaped from the box, and went up the steps. He laid his hand on the bell-knob to ring, but shook so in his nerveless agony, that he had to pause.
Suddenly the door opened, and Muriel appeared standing within the lighted entry, clad all in white, calm, beautiful and radiant. Wentworth burst into tears, and staggering forward, fell into her arms.