Even so, he would not allow himself to dwell on the worst. He had formed
his opinion of the abduction; if it proved correct he believed that he
should be in time to save her from that. But from the misery of
suspense, of fear, of humiliation, from the touch of rough hands and the
shame of coarse eyes, from these things--and alone they kindled his
blood into flame--he was powerless to save her!
Lady Dunborough could no longer have accused him of airs and graces.
Breeding, habit, the custom of the gaming-table, the pride of caste
availed to mask his passions under a veil of reserve, but were powerless
to quell them. What was more remarkable, so set was he on the one object
of recovering his mistress and putting an end to the state of terror in
which he pictured her--ignorant what her fate would be, and dreading the
worst--he gave hardly a thought to the astounding discovery which the
lawyer had made to him. He asked him no questions, turned to him for no
explanations. Those might come later; for the moment he thought not of
his cousin, but of his mistress. The smiles that had brightened the dull
passages of the inn, the figure that had glorified the quiet streets,
the eyes that had now invited and now repelled him, these were become so
many sharp thorns in his heart, so many goads urging him onward.
It was nine when they saw the lights of Calne below them, and trotting
and stumbling down the hill, clattered eagerly into the town. A moment's
delay in front of the inn, where their questions speedily gathered a
crowd, and they had news of the chaise: it had passed through the town
two hours before without changing horses. The canvas blinds were down or
there were shutters; which, the ostler who gave them the information,
could not say. But the fact that the carriage was closed had struck him,
and together with the omission to take fresh horses, had awakened his
suspicions.
By the time this was told a dozen were round them, listening
open-mouthed; and cheered by the lights and company Mr. Fishwick grew
brave again. But Sir George allowed no respite: in five minutes they
were clear of the houses and riding hard for Chippenham, the next stage
on the Bristol road; Sir George's horse cantering free, the lawyer's
groaning as it bumped across Studley bridge and its rider caught the
pale gleam of the water below. On through the village they swept, past
Brumhill Lane-end, thence over the crest where the road branches south
to Devizes, and down the last slope. The moon rose as they passed the
fourth milestone out of Calne; another five minutes and they drew up,
the horses panting and hanging their heads, in the main street of
Chippenham.