"He was so pale that I scarcely recognized him. When his eyes
encountered Mortimer, they flashed lightnings of menace.
"'Well?' I said, in brief tones.
"'It is ready, sir,' Nighthawk replied, in a voice scarcely audible. I
looked at him imperiously.
"'And the servants are warned to keep silent?'
"'Yes, sir.'
"'Very well. Remain here until I return,' I said.
"And I pointed to a seat, with a glance at Nighthawk, which said
plainly to him, 'Do not presume to attempt to turn me from my present
purpose--it will be useless, and offensive to me.'
"He groaned, and sat down in the seat I indicated. His frame was bent
and shrunken like that of an old man, in one evening. Since that
moment, I have loved Nighthawk, my dear Surry; and he deserves it.
"Without delay I led the way to the carriage, which was driven by my
father's old gray-haired coachman, and entered it with Mortimer,
directing the driver to follow the high-road down the river. He did so;
we rolled on in the moonlight, or the shadow, as it came forth or
disappeared behind the drifting clouds. The air was intensely cold.
From beyond the woods came the hollow roar of the Nottoway, which was
swollen by a freshet.
"Mortimer drew his cloak around him, but said nothing. In ten minutes I
called to the old coachman to stop.
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