“H’m! Without doubt Filson has gone in quest of somebody in authority. We must be gone from this house, at all events. Filson may return—who knows how soon?—may return with a gang of constables or a file of soldiers. Come, we must leave this inn, at least.” “But those two are watching: they will see us go.” “We’ll go through the yard. It opens to a lane, which may have two entrances—else we must find some back way, or scale a wall, if need be. Come; I’ll see the landlady as we go.” “Oh, heaven! In the passage—footsteps—of men!” Everell listened a moment, his hand on his sword-hilt. “Nay, ’tis all well. Two men walking from the stairs to the yard: they are a guest and his postilion. ’Tis a gentleman with a toothache. The landlady has been telling me of him. I would to heaven—Ah, perhaps—Come, sweet! come!” Seizing her hand, Everell led her swiftly from the room, along the passage, and through a back door, to the yard. The forms of the strange gentleman, the postilion, and the small hostler were dimly visible at the darker side of the chaise. The postilion was evidently about to light his lamps. Everell left Georgiana standing in a shadowed corner by the house door, and advanced to the other gentleman, keeping as much in the darkness as he. The stranger’s head presented a very bulky appearance, thanks not only to the handkerchief encircling it, but also to its being thickly muffled up to the mouth. His hat, moreover, was drawn down to his eyes. So, indeed, was Everell’s. “Sir,” began Everell, inwardly cursing the hoarseness that prevented a more ingratiating tone, “pardon the intrusion of one who means no offence. ’Tis a matter of life and death that moves me, a stranger, to address you as I do. There is also a lady whose fortunes are at stake. ’Tis of the first importance that we leave this place immediately. We have not been able to obtain horses. Seeing you about to depart alone, I am impelled to throw myself on your generosity. Will you take us as passengers, to the next town, at least? If you will take the lady in the chaise, I can sit on the bar in front. The postilion shall be well rewarded.” “Why, sir,” replied the other, in a thick voice, the more indistinct from his much muffled condition, “if you are travelling in my direction—” “Southward,” said Everell, eagerly. “I am sorry, then, for I am going North.” “North? What ill fortune! For an instant I thought myself happy. North!—but surely, sir, your necessity for going on at once is not as great as ours: it cannot be. If you knew the case—the lady is waiting yonder in the darkness, trembling with anxiety as to our fate. Our whole future, sir, hangs upon the next few minutes. Dare I ask you—nay, dare I refrain from asking you—to resign this conveyance to us? There will be another available at midnight. Your business certainly is not so urgent.”