"It's a long ride, miss," said Jones as he closed the carriage-door. "I hope you won't be tired before we get there."

 

"I shall not mind it," said Florence. "How far is it?"

 

"I don't rightly know. It's a matter of ten miles, I'm thinkin'."

 

"Very well."

 

Jones resumed his seat, and Florence gave herself up to pleasant thoughts. She felt thankful that she was blessed with abundant means, since[Pg 196] it would enable her to spare no expense in providing for the sick man. Others might call him a fortune-hunter, but that produced no impression upon her, except to make her angry. She had given her whole love and confidence to the man whom her heart had chosen.

 

The carriage rolled onward¹ rapidly: as from time to time she glanced out of the window, she saw that they had left behind the town and were in the open country. She gave herself no concern, however, and did not question Jones, taking it for granted that he was on the right road, and would carry her to the place where Richard Dewey had found a temporary refuge.

 

"It is some poor place, probably," she reflected, "but if he can be moved I will have him brought into town, where he can see a skilful² doctor daily."

 

At the end of an hour and a half there was a sudden stop.

 

Florence looked out of the carriage-window, and observed that they were in front of a shabby-looking dwelling³ of two stories.

 

Jones leaped from his elevated perch⁴ and opened[Pg 197] the door of the carriage. "This is the place, miss," he said. "Did you get tired?"

 

"No, but I am glad we have arrived."

 

"It's a poor place, miss, but Mr. Dewey was took sick sudden, so I was told, and it was the best they could do."

 

"It doesn't matter. Perhaps he can be moved."

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