Grey. The drawing-room bell had rung for him to be shown out, but he had forestalled it in his quickness. Laura Chesney’s heart gave a great bound, and she felt frightened enough to faint.
“Good evening, Miss Laura Chesney. Are you going abroad such a night as this?”
“Oh no. I—I—I was going to look at the weather,” stammered Laura, feeling that the Fates were certainly putting themselves in opposition to her expedition.
“The weather is nearly as bad as it can be,” observed Mr. Grey. “It may clear up in a few minutes, but only to come on again. We shall have an inclement night. Don’t come farther, my dear young lady; it’s enough to drown you.”
She turned back, apparently all obedience. But she only slipped in amidst the wet trees until Mr. Grey should be at a safe distance. Her heart was beating wildly: her conscience, even then, suggested to her to abandon the project. Of course, people who are bent upon these romantic expeditions cannot be supposed to remember common sense in the flitting; and Miss Laura Chesney had come out in thin kid shoes and without an umbrella. Neither was she wrapped up for travelling; she had not dared to put on any but her ordinary attire, lest it should attract attention, were she met. Mr. Grey gone, she came forth from her hiding-place, and sped on in the mud and rain to the spot in Blister Lane—it was not five minutes’ distance—where Mr. Carlton was awaiting her.
They started. Mr. Carlton drove along at the utmost speed that the lane and circumstances allowed; and Laura gradually regained tolerable composure. But she felt sick with apprehension; her heart was fluttering, her ears were strained to catch any noise behind, so apprehensive was she of enemies in pursuit. Mr. Carlton asked her what it was that had arisen in connection with letters and the Earl of Oakburn, and Laura mechanically answered. In a moment of less agitation, she would have enquired how he came to know anything about it; but the question never occurred to her in this.
“We have been expecting Lord Oakburn all day,” she said. “He is related to us; his father and papa were first cousins.”
“You have been expecting him?”
“Yes, but he had not arrived when I came away. Two letters have come addressed to him; and therefore we know ho must be coming. When Jane was worrying about a room for him this morning, I could have told her, had I dared, that mine would be at liberty.”
It was evident that Laura knew nothing of the earl’s illness, or the view of affairs suggested by Mr. Grey. Mr. Carlton suffered her to remain in ignorance. Did the idea occur to him that the Lady Laura Chesney, daughter of the Earl of Oakburn, might not be so ready to take flight with a country surgeon struggling into practice, as Miss Laura Chesney, daughter of the poor and embarrassed half-pay post captain, was proving herself to be? It cannot be told. South Wennoek had its opinion upon the point afterwards, and gave vent to it freely.
They were within a mile and a half of Lichford, and Mr. Carlton was urging his horse madly along, like a second Phaëton, afraid of missing the train, when there occurred a preventative. The horse fell down. Suddenly, with as little warning or cause as there had been on that memorable Sunday night, the animal came suddenly down, and the carriage turned over on its side, one of the wheels flying off.
Mr. Carlton and Laura were not thrown out. The hood over their heads, the tight apron over their knees, they were too well wedged in to be spilled. Mr. Carlton extricated himself, he hardly knew how, and got out Laura.
The horse was plunging violently. Planting the terrified girl on the bank as much out of harm’s way as it was possible to place her, Mr. Carlton had to turn his best attention to the horse. There was nothing for it but to cut the traces. Fortunately he had a sharp knife in his pocket, and succeeded in severing them; and the horse started off into space, it was impossible to tell where.
Here was pretty situation! Did Mr. Carlton remember the ridiculous words of the woman who had come to his help on that Sunday night? Had he been of the same belief that she was, he might surely have taken this upset to be a warning against persisting in the present journey. Mr. Carlton was not half so metaphysical. He simply threw an ugly word after the offending horse, and blamed his own folly for trusting to the surefootedness of an animal that had once fallen.
Mr. Carlton looked around him in the dark night. The rain, which bad ceased for half an hour or so, was coming down again violently. Laura shivered against the bank, where he had placed her, too sick and terrified for tears. It was of the utmost importance that they should gain the station for the next train that passed, and be away, if they would escape the pursuit that might follow on detection at South Wennock. But Mr. Carlton did not see how they were to get on to it.
He could not leave the disabled carriage in