He wound Mr. Cleggett up with sundry pegs of strong New England
rum. He had met a gentleman and lady on the road that day; he
wondered, as he toyed with his glass, if it could have been the
Ferrises? Mounted? Yes, mounted. Then it was Ferris and his
wife--or it might have been Captain Murrell and Miss Malroy the
captain was a strapping, black-haired chap who rode a big bay
horse. Miss Malroy did not live in that part of the country; she
was a friend of Mrs. Ferris', belonged in Kentucky or Tennessee,
or somewhere out yonder--at any rate she was bringing her visit
to an end, for Ferris had instructed him to reserve a place for
her in the north-bound stage on the morrow.

Carrington suddenly remembered that he had some thought of
starting north in the morning himself, but he was still
undecided. How about it if he deferred his decision until the
stage was leaving? Mr. Cleggett consulted his bookings and was
of the opinion that his chances would not be good; and Carrington
hastily paid down his money. Later in the privacy of his own
room he remarked meditatively, viewing his reflection in the
mirror that hung above the chimneypiece, "I reckon you're plain
crazy!" and seemed to free himself from all further
responsibility for his own acts whatever they might be.

The stage left at six, and as Carrington climbed to his seat the
next morning Mr. Cleggett was advising the driver to look sharp
when he came to the Barony road, as he was to pick up a party
there. It was Carrington who looked sharp, and almost at the
spot where he had seen Betty Malroy the day before he saw her
again, with Ferris and Judith and a pile of luggage bestowed by
the wayside. Betty did not observe him as the coach stopped, for