For an instant old Adam hesitated, but it was only for an instant, for he said to himself he must not arouse the suspicion of this stranger by refusing to ride, especially as he had begged for that permission so short a time before.  He could frame no reasonable excuse for asking to remain behind.

Marking the spot as best he could in the intense darkness, he climbed up to the driver’s box as he had been bidden, and took his seat.

With a sharp cut of the whip upon their flanks, the horses were started, and swaying to and fro with their every motion as they dashed along over the uneven road, the coach sped onward.

No word fell from the driver’s lips, and old Adam was too much excited to vouchsafe a remark.

He knew that the men, as well as the rig, did not belong thereabouts, for he well knew every team in the village, and those of the adjoining farmers.

How far they traversed thus he could not judge, but to his intense relief he saw at last that they were passing a familiar landmark, an old bridge that spanned a dry creek which was scarcely a dozen rods from his own door.

“I will leave you here,” said Adam.  “I thank you for giving me a lift.”

Again the coach came to a halt, and the man within put out his head, inquiring sharply: 

“What is the matter now?”

“This man wants to get off here.”

“Very well,” replied Halloran, drawing back into the warmth of the coach and giving the matter no further thought, and resuming the castles in the air which he had been building when the vehicle came to a stop.  “I shall see that you carry out to the fullest detail the little plot I am laying this night for you,” he muttered, looking steadily at his companion, who had dozed off into a heavy stupefied sleep upon the opposite seat, “and when you come into possession of the money which your marriage to the little heiress to-night will bring you, I shall come in for the lion’s share of it.  You dare not refuse my demands, no matter how exorbitant they may be, under penalty of exposure.  That will be the sword in my hands that will always hang over your head.

“It would have been more difficult to accomplish my scheme if the girl had lived.  It is best as it is.  Dead people tell no tales.  Of course they will search for the girl when they discover that she has eloped, but will believe she is cleverly eluding them or traveling about the country.  I have always had golden dreams of a fortune that would be in my grasp some day, and now, lo! my dream is about to be realized.”

While he was thus soliloquizing, old Adam, the grave digger, was standing silently in the road where they had set him down, then suddenly he turned abruptly—­not toward his home—­but as quickly as his aged limbs could carry him back over the ground the coach had just traversed, praying to Heaven to guide him to the spot where he had dug the lonely grave of the beautiful, hapless young bride of an hour.