a wild hatred and fear which might have rendered a Wolf a less terrible companion.
He uttered an involuntary exclamation, and called to the driver, who brought his horses to a stop with all speed.
It could hardly have been as he supposed, for although he had not taken his eyes off his companion, and had not seen him move, he sat reclining in his corner as before.
"What's the matter?" said Jonas. "Is that your general way of waking out of your sleep?"
"I could swear," returned the other, "that I have not closed my eyes!"
"When you have sworn it," said Jonas, composedly, "we had better go on again, if you have only stopped for that."
He uncorked the bottle with the help of his teeth; and putting it to his lips, took a long draught.
"I wish we had never started on this journey. This is not," said Montague, recoiling instinctively, and speaking in a voice that betrayed his agitation: "this is not a night to travel in."
"Ecod! you 're right there," returned Jonas: "and we shouldn't be out in it but for you. If you hadn't kept me waiting all day, we might have been at Salisbury by this time; snug abed and fast asleep. What are we stopping now for?"
His companion put his head out of window for a moment, and drawing it in again, observed (as if that were his cause of anxiety), that the boy was drenched to the skin.
"Serve him right," said Jonas. "I'm glad of it. What the devil are we stopping now, for? Are you going to spread him out to dry?"
"I have half a mind to take him inside," observed the other with some hesitation.
"Oh! thankee!" said Jonas. "We don't want any damp boys here: especially a young imp like him. Let him be where he is. He aint afraid of a little thunder and lightning, I dare say; whoever else is. Go on, Driver! We had better have him inside perhaps," he muttered with a laugh; "and the horses!"
"Don't go too fast," cried Montague to the postillion; "and take care how you go. You were nearly in the ditch when I called to you."
This was not true; and Jonas bluntly said so, as they moved forward again. Montague took little or no heed of what he said, but repeated that it was not a night for travelling, and showed himself, both then and afterwards, unusually anxious.
From this time, Jonas recovered his former spirits; if such a term may be employed to express the state in which he had left the city. He had his bottle often at his mouth; roared out snatches of songs, without the least regard to time or tune or voice, or anything but loud discordance; and urged his silent friend to be merry with him.
"You 're the best company in the world, my good fellow," said Montague with an effort, "and in general irresistible; but to-night—do you hear it?"
"Ecod I hear and see it too," cried Jonas, shading his eyes, for the moment, from the lightning which was flashing, not in any one direction,
