"I've been doubting that for an hour past, Master Richard," was the
answer.

The grizzled man was Seth, or sometimes Mr. Seth, to all who knew him.
So seldom had he heard himself called Seth Dingwall that he had almost
forgotten the name. Born in Louisiana, he believed he had French blood
in him, and spoke the language easily. He had gone with his mistress to
Virginia when she married Colonel Barrington, and to him Broadmead was
home, and he had no relation in the wide world.

"Is it so necessary to reach the city to-night?" he asked after a pause.

"I had planned to do so."

The answer was characteristic of the man. As a boy, when he had made up
his mind to do a thing, he did it, even though well-merited punishment
might follow, and the boy was father to the man. Save in years and
experience, this was the same Richard Barrington who had dreamed as he
watched sunlit sails disappear in the haze over Chesapeake Bay.

"I was thinking of the horses," said Seth. "I reckon that we have a long
way to travel yet."

"We may get others presently," Barrington answered, and then, after a
moment's pause, he went on: "We have seen some strange sights since we
landed--ruined homes, small and great, burned and desolated by the
peasants; and in the last few hours we have heard queer tales. I do not
know how matters stand, but it looks as if we might be useful in Paris.
That is why we must push on."