"Now, then, where are you going?" inquired Ormiston for, following him.
"I don't wish to talk here; there is no telling who may be listening.
Come along."
Ormiston glanced back at the gloomy rain looming up like a black spectre
in the blackness.
"Well, they most have a strong fancy for eavesdropping, I must say, who
world go to that haunted heap to listen. What have you seen there, and
where have you left your horse?"
"I told you before," said Sir Norman, rather impatiently, "I that I have
seen nothing--at least, nothing you would care about; and my horse is
waiting me at the Golden Crown."
"Very well, we have no time to lose; so get there as fast as you can,
and mount him and ride as if the demon were after you back to London."
"Back to London? Is the man crazy? I shall do no such thing, let me tell
you, to-night."
"Oh, just as you please," said Ormiston, with a great deal of
indifference, considering the urgent nature of his former request. "You
can do as you like, you know, and so can I--which translated, means, I
will go and tell her you have declined to come."
"Tell her? Tell whom? What are you talking about? Hang it, man!"
exclaimed Sir Norman, getting somewhat excited and profane, "what are
you driving at? Can't you speak out and tell me at once?"
"I have told you!" said Ormiston, testily: "and I tell you again, she
sent me in search of you, and if you don't choose to come, that's your
own affair, and not mine."
This was a little too mach for Sir Norman's overwrought feelings, and in
the last degree of exasperation, he laid violent hands on the collar
of Ormiston's doublet, and shook him as if he would have shaken the
name out with a jerk.
"I tell you what it is, Ormiston, you had better not aggravate me! I can
stand a good deal, but I'm not exactly Moses or Job, and you had better
mind what you're at. If you don't come to the point at once, and tell
me who I she is, I'll throttle you where you stand; and so give you
warning."
Half-indignant, and wholly laughing, Ormiston stepped back out of the
way of his excited friend.
"I cry you mercy! In one word, then, I have been dispatched by a lady in
search of you, and that lady is--Leoline."
It has always been one of the inscrutable mysteries in natural
philosophy that I never could fathom, why men do not faint. Certain it
is, I never yet heard of a man swooning from excess of surprise or
joy, and perhaps that may account for Sir Norman's not doing so on the
present occasion. But he came to an abrupt stand-still in their rapid
career; and if it had not been quite so excessively dark, his friend
would have beheld a countenance wonderful to look on, in its mixture of
utter astonishment and sublime consternation.