Beautiful Rienzi; or, The secret vendetta — page 235: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

230 BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. «« Yes.” ‘‘ Without any proof that I do not intend to murder you, and put your body into the first well?” ““ Yes.”’ He took my hand and assisted me to the seat at his side. Instantly we dashed off at a rapid rate; through the dusty lane behind the village, and away into the country beyond, where fresh scenes gyrated in rapid succession before my ‘watchful eyes. ‘When shall we reach my sister?” I asked. ‘*Madam will be able to -tell to a minute, when she is there,” responded the man in his pure, cutting diction. ‘“What do you mean, sir, by such discourtesy?”’ I re- torted, with some indignation. ‘* Answer me.” ‘To oblige Miss Rienzi, Pll not quarrel with her, but to oblige myself, I'll not answer her.” ‘s Your reasons, sir; I must have them.” ‘* Very good; very well. The reason is that you and I may disagree any moment after you find out exactly where you are going; and in your anger you may post back to Ranelagh by the cars at Crookle-Back, and set the village on our track, which you know would neither be keeping to your lady sister’s injunctions nor endangering yourself.” ‘Your caution is admirable, sir. If I should never re- turn to my parents, they will be unable to trace my fate. Be assured, however, that I will not be betrayed into dan- ger without a struggle. Iam not a coward.” ‘‘T think you are not a coward,” said the wild being at my side, flickering asudden glance at me; ‘‘and I see you are a regular mastiff for those you love.” “Tell me—tell me,” I exclaimed, encouraged by the kindly glance which the coal-black eyes had given; ‘‘is my sister well? is she happy?” “« Ask the lady when you meet.” After two hours’ drive, we entered a small and smoky settlement, where a ruinous wooden bridge spanned a muddy inlet of the sea. This was Crookle-Back Bridge. A train had just stopped, and we were only in time to procure tickets and secure our places, when we were clatter- ing noisily toward New York. Morecombe, through his gipsy eyes, watched my every movement with the vigilance of a lynx; neither approached nor addressed me during the two hours we were tossed to- CORNUCG OOO S (©)