"
And then Mr. Hawkins, with something additional to the stipulated
reward in his pocket, and a pint bottle of his favourite stimulant to
refresh him on the way, took himself off, and Carrington saw no more of
him. The people about the inn saw very little of Carrington, but it was
with some surprise that the ostler received his directions to saddle
the horse which stood in the stable, just when the last gleam of the
short winter's daylight was dying out on Christmas-day. Carrington had
not stirred beyond the precincts of the inn all the morning and
afternoon. The strange visitor was all uninfluenced either by the
devotional or the festive aspects of the season. He was quite alone,
and as he sat in his cheerless little bedroom at the small country inn,
and brooded, now over a pocket volume, thickly noted in his small, neat
handwriting, now over the plans which were so near their
accomplishment, he exulted in that solitude--he gave loose to the
cynicism which was the chief characteristic of his mind. He cursed the
folly of the idiots for whom Christmas-time had any special meaning,
and secretly worshipped his own idols--money and power.
The horse was brought to him, and Carrington mounted him without any
difficulty, and rode away in the gathering gloom. "Wild Buffalo" gave
him no trouble, and he began to feel some misgivings as to the truth of
the exceedingly bad character he had received with the animal.
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