The night was wet and stormy, and, just as we
started, forked lightning flashed across the heavens in all
directions, causing the horse to dash madly along as if to overturn
the vehicle. This of course was a mere coincidence, but, with all my
firmness of will and sound logical reasons for not being afraid, I
could not altogether control my emotions as we drove through the
lowest and dirtiest parts of Griffintown, which had at that time the
reputation of harboring all sorts of Fenians, thieves and marauders.
We crossed the canal and got out into the country, the rain
descending in torrents, while the thunder crashed louder than ever.
I believe that, had I been able to get out, I would have even then
retreated, but I had no alternative but to remain and make the most
of my position. Beyond a few words at starting, my companion said
little; indeed conversation was impossible, as were jolted from side
to side of the street, and the crashing of the thunder overhead
would have drowned our most powerful efforts.
After about half an hour's ride, the carriage stopped at a lonely
house some distance on the Lower Lachine road, and, alighting, we
entered, when I was piloted into an upper chamber, where a woman lay
on a couch in need of my attendance.
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