Three pounds was money, much money in those days. It was good interest on his unpaid bill, and Mr. Hollins gave way. He flung down the key of the stables, and hurrying down after it, helped to harness the horses by the light of a lanthorn. That done, however, the good man took fright at the novelty, almost the impudence of the thing, and demanded his money. “Half now, and half at Brickhill,” Clement replied, and the sight of the cash settled the matter. Mr. Hollins opened the yard gate, and two minutes later they were off, the farmer’s wife staring after them from the doorway and, with a leaning to the safe side, shrilly stating her opinion that her husband was a fool and would lose his nags. “Never fear,” Clement said to the man. “Only don’t spare them! Time is money to me this morning!” Fortunately, the horses had done no work the previous day and had been well fed. They were fresh, and the old postboy, feeling himself in luck, and exhilarated by what he called “as queer a start as ever was,” was determined to merit the largest fee. The farmer, as they whirled down Windmill Hill at a pace that carried them over the ascent and past Plum Park, fidgeted uneasily in his seat, fearing broken knees and what not. But seeing then that the postboy steadied his pair and knew his business, he let it pass. As far as Stony Stratford the road was with them, and thence to Fenny Stratford they pushed on at a good pace. It was broad daylight by now, the road was full of life and movement, they met and passed other travellers, other chaises, one or two of the early morning coaches. Men, topping and tailing turnips, stood and watched them from the fields, a gleam of December sunrise warmed the landscape. To the tedious nightmare of the long, dark hours, with their endless stages and sleepy turn-outs and shadowy postillions, their yawning inns and midnight meals, had succeeded sober daylight, plodding realities, waking life; and Clement should have owned the relief. But he did not, for a simple reason. During the night the end had been far off and uncertain, a thing not yet to be dwelt upon or considered. Now the end was within sight, a few hours must determine it one way or the other, and his anxiety as the time passed, and now the horses slackened their pace to climb a rise, now were detained by a flock of sheep, centred itself upon it. He had endured so much that he might intercept Arthur before the deed was done and the false transfer used, that to fail Josina now, to be too late now, was a thing not to be considered. CHAPTER XXXIV