Outside the mist seemed thick as ever, though the east was brightening
to day; so I entered the chaise, followed by Anthony growling disgust,
the door slammed, and through the open window came the round head of
Tom the landlord to bob at us in turn.
"'T will grow finer mayhap by an' by, sirs," quoth he, "hows'ever,
good luck an' good fortun' to ye, gentlemen--all right, Peter!" he
called to the postillion. Whereupon a whip cracked, the chaise lurched
forward and landlord and inn vanished in the swirling mist.
For a while we rode without talking, Anthony scowling out of his
window, I staring out of mine at an eddying haze which, thinning out
ever and anon, showed vague shapes that peeped forth only to be lost
again, spectral trees, barns and ricks, looming unearthly in the
half-light.
"Perry, you--you are confoundedly silent!"
"You are not particularly loquacious either," I retorted, slipping my
hand within his arm.
"Why, no--no, b'gad--I'm not, Perry. But then, it's such a peculiarly
damnable morning, d'ye see."
"Well, it will mayhap grow finer later on, remember."
"Hope to heaven it does!"
"It would make things--a little pleasanter, Anthony."
"Peregrine, if--should anything--anything--er--dooced happen to you,
I'll--aye, by God, I'll fight the fellow myself."
"I beg you will do no such thing--I implore you Anthony."
"Oh? Damme and why not?"
"For the sake of Barbara--your Loveliness--your future happiness--"
"Tush, man!" he exclaimed bitterly.
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