"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.




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