“We had best order fresh horses, and pay the reckoning; and meanwhile finish our wine—it may be some time before we think it safe to stop long at another inn.” He stepped toward the bell-rope, but Everell again intervened, with the words: “Nay, if any report of us has gone about, a hasty departure is the very thing to confirm suspicion. Nothing in haste:—my dear Will, how often have I heard you give that good counsel.” “There will be no apparent haste. We have dined without hurry.” Everell sighed, and looked toward the door. His face brightened. “But if we wait here awhile, we may—don’t you know—perhaps we can—we may learn why that waiting-woman cried out at the sight of my scar,—for, look you, if we should meet the mistress again, no doubt, if it is something harmless—” “At least,” said Roughwood, firmly, “I will ring and give orders and pay. Even if you still feel inclined to tarry, there’s no harm in being ready to go.” Everell could not reasonably dispute this, but he was so little inclined to take a hand in anything implying an immediate departure, that he left all to his friend, and sat looking through the open door while Roughwood gave orders and paid the landlady. Nothing occurred to reward his watch during the first few minutes that passed while horses were being made ready. He took up the glass that Roughwood gently pushed to his hand, and drank down the wine half-consciously. He dreaded to see the horses appear, knowing that his comrade must have his way, and that he should probably never again behold the vision that had suddenly gladdened his sight and warmed his heart. But meanwhile there had been activity in the yard, and now there was a great stamping of hoofs and rattling of harness, accompanied by the ejaculations peculiar to men who have to do with horses. Roughwood went to the door and looked toward the yard. “’Tis a coach-and-six making ready to depart,” he said. “And there’s a post-chaise, too. We are not the only people who are about to leave this inn.”