And now the sign-post hove
in sight, and the cross-roads stretching whitely into distance.
If we take the town of Troy as a base, lying north and south, this
sign-post forms the apex of a triangle which has two high-roads for
its remaining sides--the one road entering Troy from the north by the
hill which Sam had just ascended, the other running southwards and
ending with a steep declivity at no great distance from "The Bower."
It was by this southern road, of course, that Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys
would come. Sam looked along it, but all as yet was silent.
He pulled out his watch again, and, finding that he had still twenty
minutes to spare, set down his load at the foot of the signpost, and
began to walk to and fro.
So gloomy were his reflections that, to soothe his nerves, he pulled
out a cigar, lit it, and then, for lack of anything better to do,
rekindled his lantern, and resumed his walk.
The cigar was barely half smoked when he heard a noise in the
distance.
Yes, there was no doubt. It was the sound of horses. Sam caught up
the portmanteau, and stared down the highway. For a full minute he
listened to the advancing clatter, and presently, around an angle of
the road, a chaise and pair broke into view, and came up at a gallop.
Sam advanced a step or two; a white handkerchief was thrust out at
the window, and the driver pulled up suddenly.
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