The remarkable beauty of the animal so attracted Coningsby's attention
that it prevented him catching even a glimpse of the rider, who rapidly
dismounted and entered the inn. The host shortly after came in and asked
Coningsby whether he had any objection to a gentleman, who was driven
there by the storm, sharing his room until it subsided. The consequence of
the immediate assent of Coningsby was, that the landlord retired and soon
returned, ushering in an individual, who, though perhaps ten years older
than Coningsby, was still, according to Hippocrates, in the period of
lusty youth. He was above the middle height, and of a distinguished air
and figure; pale, with an impressive brow, and dark eyes of great
intelligence.

'I am glad that we have both escaped the storm,' said the stranger; 'and I
am greatly indebted to you for your courtesy.' He slightly and graciously
bowed, as he spoke in a voice of remarkable clearness; and his manner,
though easy, was touched with a degree of dignity that was engaging.

'The inn is a common home,' replied Coningsby, returning his salute.

'And free from cares,' added the stranger. Then, looking through the
window, he said, 'A strange storm this. I was sauntering in the sunshine,
when suddenly I found I had to gallop for my life. 'Tis more like a white
squall in the Mediterranean than anything else.'

'I never was in the Mediterranean,' said Coningsby. 'There is nothing I
should like so much as to travel.'

'You are travelling,' rejoined his companion. 'Every moment is travel, if
understood.'