He had believed the public excitement was only a temporary outbreak of partisan feeling, soon to subside.

Even now he was conscious that he was less doubtful of the integrity of the Union than of his own household.

It was not the devotion of the patriot, but the indignation of an outraged husband, that was spurring him on.
He knew that if he reached Woodville by five o'clock he could get ferried across the bay at the Embarcadero, and catch the down coach to Fair Plains, whence he could ride to the Rancho.

As the coach did not connect directly with San Francisco, the chance of his surprising them was greater.

Once clear of the city outskirts, he bullied Redskin into irascible speed, and plunged into the rainy darkness of the highroad.
The way was familiar.