our till the time appointed for our departure, and I
am sitting alone in my room when Roger enters.

"Nancy," he says, coming quickly toward me, "have you any idea what sort
of a whip that boy is?"

"Not the slightest!" reply I, shortly.

I feel as hard as a flint to-day. Algy's words last night seem to have
confirmed and given a solider reality to my worst fears. He has walked
to the window and is looking out.

"Are you _nervous_?" say I, with a slightly sarcastic smile.

He does not appear to notice the sarcasm.

"Yes," he says, "that is just what I am. He is a mad sort of fellow, and
a coach is not a thing to play tricks with!"

"No," say I, indifferently. It seems to me of infinitely little
consequence whether we are upset or not.

"That is what I came to speak to you about!" he says, still looking out
of the window.

"Zephine--"

"Is nervous, too?" ask I, smiling disagreeably. "What a curious
coincidence!"

"I do not know whether she is nervous or not!" he answers, quickly; "I
never asked her, but it seems that Huntley never would let her go on a
drag; he had seen some bad accident, and it had given him a fright--"

"And so you and she are going to stay at home?" say I, coldly, but
breathing a little heavily, and whitening.

"Stay at home!" he echoes, impatiently, "of course not; why should we?
The fact is" (beginning to speak quickly in clear and eager explanation)
"that I heard them talking of this plan yesterday, and so I thought I
would be on the safe side, and send over to Tempest for the
pony-carriage, and it is here now, and--"

"And you are going to drive her in it?" I say, still speaking quietly,
and smiling. "I see! nothing could be nicer!"

"I wish to Heaven that you would not take the words out of my mouth," he
cries, losing his temper a little; while his brows contract into a
slight and most unwonted frown. "What I wish to know is, will _you_
drive her?"

"I!!"

"Yes, _you_; I know--" (speaking with a sort of hurried deprecation) "I
know that you are not fond of her; she is not a woman that other women
are apt to get on with; but it would not be for long! I tell you
candidly" (with a look of sincere anxiety) "I do not half like trusting
you to Parker!--I think you are as likely as not to come to grief."

"To come to grief!" repeat I, with a harsh, dry laugh; "ha! ha! perhaps
I have done that already!"

"But will you?" he asks, eagerly; not heeding my sorry mirth, and taking
my