Mrs.Bowmore thought otherwise: the good woman privately packed a bag for Percy, in the sanctuary of her own room.
For an hour, and more than an hour, no event of any sort occurred.
Mr.Bowmore stalked up and down the parlor, meditating.

At intervals, ideas of flight presented themselves attractively to his mind.

At intervals, ideas of the speech that he had prepared for the public meeting on the next day took their place.

"If I fly to-night," he wisely observed, "what will become of my speech?
I will _not_ fly to-night! The people shall hear me." He sat down and crossed his arms fiercely.

As he looked at his wife to see what effect he had produced on her, the sound of heavy carriage-wheels and the trampling of horses penetrated to the parlor from the garden-gate.
Mr.Bowmore started to his feet, with every appearance of having suddenly altered his mind on the question of flight.