"If they perished on the spot, Sirrah, what business is it of yours?
When one pursues the enemy in time of war, does one think of food or
fodder?"--whence the coachman concluded that there was some one whom the
squire meant to cut to pieces.
It was only when they came to the road leading to Hidvar that the
coachman began to suspect that they were about to go in that direction.
It was now the evening of the second day and both man and beast were
tired to death. It was indispensable that they should stay the night
here, for if they passed Hidvar they would have to go on the whole night
before they reached the next stage--or come to grief on the road, which
was much more probable.
"You will stop in front of the castle!" commanded Mr. Gerzson when they
were crossing the castle bridge.
The coachman looked back and shook his head. He did not like it at all.
"Shan't we turn into the castle yard?" enquired he.
"No!" bellowed Squire Gerzson, so venomously that the "why not?" he was
about to say, stuck in the poor coachman's throat like a fish-bone.
"Now listen to me," said Gerzson, when they had fairly got across to
the other side: "Keep your eyes open and try and take in what I am going
to say to you. I don't know how long I may remain inside there--possibly
some time. At any rate you must not loiter about here with the horses
but go on to the priest and beg him, civilly, mind, to kindly
accommodate my nags in his stable and give them two bushels of maize.
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