The Ghost of Guir House | Page 4

eyebrows lifted, said:
"And I have never been out of it."
Paul would have liked to pursue the conversation, but did not know how to do it. So far from gaining any information, he felt that he was sinking deeper in the mire. "After all," he reflected, "there are worse things in life than being run away with by a pretty girl, even if one doesn't happen to know exactly where she is taking him, and even if she doesn't happen to know exactly whom she is taking." He stretched out his feet and leaned back, resigned to his fate.
Not a house had been passed in more than a mile. The road was deserted, and Paul's interest in future developments steadily growing.
Suddenly there was a terrible crash, and Mr. Henley's side of the cart collapsed. Dorothy drew up the horse and exclaimed:
"There! It is the spring. I was afraid it would break!"
"Too much weight on my side, Miss Guir," said Paul, jumping to the ground.
"It is not that; it was weak; and I should have remembered to place your luggage on my side. It is too unfortunate."
"What are we to do?" inquired Henley.
"It is difficult to say. We are miles from home, and the road is rough."
She was examining the broken spring by the uncertain light, and seemed perplexed.
"Can I not lead the horse while we walk?" suggested Paul.
"We could, but the break is too bad. I fear the body of the cart will fall from the axle. But stop; there is one thing I can do. There is a smith about half a mile from here, upon another road, which leaves this about a hundred yards ahead. I will drive on alone to the shop, and, although it is late, I feel sure the man will do the work for me. You, Mr. Henley, will wait here for the stage, which will be due directly. Tell the driver to put you off at the Guir Road, where you can wait until I come along to pick you up. The distance is not great, and I will follow as quickly as possible."
She was off before he had time to answer, leaving him standing by the roadside, waiting for the promised coach. It was not long before the rumbling of a heavy vehicle was heard, and but a few minutes more when an antiquated stage with four scrubby horses emerged from the shadow of a giant oak into the open moonlight, scarce fifty yards away. Mr. Henley hailed the driver, who stopped, and looked at him as if frightened. The man was a Negro, and, when convinced that it was nothing more terrible than a human being who had accosted him, smiled generously and invited him to a seat on the box.
"I 'lowed yer was a hant" observed the man, by way of opening the conversation, when Paul had handed up his bags and taken his place on top. Henley lighted a cigar, and the cumbersome old vehicle moved slowly forward.
Their way now lay through a beautiful valley, beside a picturesque stream, tunneling its course through wild ivy and magnificent banks of calmia, and under the wide spreading limbs of pines and hemlocks. The country appeared to be a wilderness, and Paul could not help feeling that the real world of flesh and ambition lay upon the other side of the ridge, now far behind. The night was superb, but the road rough, so that the horses seldom went out of a walk. Presently the driver drew up his animals for water, and Henley took the opportunity to question him.
"Do you know these Guirs where I am going?" he inquired.
The man paused in the act of dipping a pail of water, and seemed puzzled. Thinking he had not understood, Paul repeated the question, when the man dropped the bucket, and staring at him with a look of horror, said:
"Boss, is you uns in airnest?"
Henley laughed, and told him that he thought he was, adding that Miss Guir was a friend of his.
"Now I knows you uns is jokin', 'case dey ain't got no friends in dis 'ere country."
"But I am a stranger!" argued Paul.
"Well, sah, it ain't for de likes o' me to argify wid you uns, but ef you wants to know whar de house is, I kin show it to you; leastways I kin show you de road to git dar."
"That's it; but tell me, don't the people about here like the Guirs?"
"Boss, ef dey's frens o' yourn, I reckon you knows all about 'em; maybe more'n I kin tell you, and I reckon it's saiftest for me to keep my mouf shet tight!"
"Why so? Explain. Surely Miss Guir is a very charming young lady."
"I reckon she be, boss; dough for my part I ain't nebber seed her. Folks says as