At this summons a rough-looking ostler emerged into the circle of light thrown by the single lamp and, touching his hat, announced in a surly voice that he was the individual in question. The guard and he then proceeded to drag the trunks to the vehicle. It was a small wagonette, with a high seat for the driver in front.
"Where to, sir?" asked the driver, when the travellers had taken their seats.
"To Hampton Priory. Do you know where that is?"
"Better'n two mile from here, and close to the railway line," said the man. "There hain't been no one livin' there for two year at the least."
"We are expected and all will be ready for us," said Girdlestone. "Go as fast as you can, for we are cold."
The driver cracked his whip, and the horse started at a brisk trot down the dark country road.
Looking round her, Kate saw that they were passing through a large country village, consisting of a broad main street, with a few insignificant offshoots branching away on either side. A church stood on one side, and on the other the village inn. The door was open and the light shining through the red curtains of the bar parlour looked warm and cosy. The clink of glasses and the murmur of cheerful voices sounded from within. Kate, as she looked across, felt doubly cheerless and lonely by the contrast. Girdlestone looked too, but with different emotions.
"Another plague spot," he cried, jerking his head in that direction. "In town or country it is the same. These poison-sellers are scattered over the whole face of the land, and every one of them is a focus of disease and misery."
"Beg your pardon, sir," the surly driver observed, screwing round in his seat. "That 'ere's the 'Flyin' Bull', sir, where I be in sarvice, and it ain't no poison-seller, but a real right down good house."
"All liquor is poison, and every house devoted to the sale of it is a sinful house," Girdlestone said curtly.
"Don't you say that to my maister," remarked the driver.
