“See here, young man,” said the latter, who had sprung from the box at Edith's order, “do you stand by the gate, an' I'll tickle that feller with this whip, an' see how he likes it.” The driver was a stout, solid, muscular fellow, with broad shoulders and bull-dog aspect. In his hand he flourished a heavy whip, and as he spoke his eyes sought out some part of the porter's person at which he might take aim. As he spoke the porter became aware of this second assailant, and a dark and malignant frown lowered over his evil face. He slowly drew from his breast a large clasp-knife which was as formidable as a dagger, and opening this, he held it significantly before him. But now a new turn was given to the progress of affairs. Had the porter said nothing, Miss Plympton might have overcome her fears far enough to accompany Edith; but his menacing looks and words, and these preparations for a struggle, were too much. “Edith, my child, my dearest, do not! do not! I can not go; I will not. See these men; they will kill one another. John, come away. Driver, go back to the box. Come away at once. Do you hear, John?” John did hear, and after some hesitation concluded to obey. He stepped back from the gate, and stood awaiting the progress of events. The driver also stood, waiting further orders. “Edith dearest,” said Miss Plympton, “nothing would induce me to go through those gates. You must not go.” “I'm sure,” said Edith, “I shall be very sorry if you will not come; but, for my own part, I am quite resolved to go. Don't be afraid. Come.” Miss Plympton shuddered and shook her head. “Well,” said Edith, “perhaps it will be as well for you to wait, since you are so agitated; and if you really will not come, you can drive back to the village. At any rate, I can see you to-morrow, and I will drive down for you the first thing.” Miss Plympton looked mournfully at Edith. “And you, Richards,” said Edith, looking at her maid, “I suppose it is no use for me to ask you. I see how it is. Well, never mind. I dare say she needs you more than I do; and to-morrow will make all right. I see it only distresses you for me to press you so I will say no more. Good-by for the present.” Edith held out her hand. Miss Plympton took it, let it go, and folding Edith in her arms, she burst into tears. “I'm afraid--I'm afraid,” said she. “What of?” said Edith. “About you,” moaned Miss Plympton. “Nonsense,” said Edith. “I shall call on you to-morrow as soon as you are up.” Miss Plympton sighed. Edith held out her hand to her maid, Richards, and kindly bade her good-by. The girl wept bitterly, and could not speak. It was an unusual thing for Edith to do, and was rather too solemn a proceeding in view of a short separation for one night, and this struck Edith herself. But who knows what one night may bring forth?