“Yes, Mr. Lorry.”

“What is the matter?”

“A despatch sent after you from over yonder. T. and Co.”

“I know this messenger, guard,” said Mr. Lorry, getting down

into the road, assisted from behind more swiftly than politely by

the other two passengers, who immediately scrambled into the

coach, shut the door, and pulled up the window. “He may come

close; there’s nothing wrong.”

“I hope there ain’t, but can’t make so ’Nation sure of that,” said

the guard, in gruff soliloquy. “Hallo you!”

“Well! And hallo you!” said Jerry, more hoarsely than before.

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

“Come on at a footpace! d’ye mind me? And if you’ve got

holsters to that saddle o’ yourn, don’t let me see your hands go

nigh ’em. For I’m a devil at a quick mistake, and when I make one

it takes the form of Lead. So now let’s look at you.”

The figures of a horse and rider came slowly through the

eddying mist, and came to the side of the mail, where the

passenger stood. The rider stopped, and, casting up his eyes at the

guard, handed the passenger a small folded paper. The rider’s

horse was blown, and both horse and rider were covered with

mud, from the hoofs of the horse to the hat of the man.

“Guard!” said the passenger, in a tone of quiet business

confidence.

The watchful guard, with his right hand at the stock of his

raised blunderbuss, his left at the barrel, and his eye on the

horseman, answered curtly, “Sir.”

“There is nothing to apprehend. I belong to Tellson’s Bank.

You must know Tellson’s Bank in London. I am going to Paris on

business. A crown to drink. I may read this?”

“If so be as you’re quick, sir.”

He opened it in the light of the coach-lamp on that side, and

readfirst to himself and then aloud: “‘Wait at Dover for

Mam’selle.’ It’s not long, you see, guard. Jerry, say that my answer

was, RECALLED TO LIFE.”

Jerry started in his saddle. “That’s a Blazing strange answer,

too,” said he, at his hoarsest.

“Take that message back, and they will know that I received

this, as well as if I wrote. Make the best of your way. Good night.”

With those words the passenger opened the coach-door and got

in; not at all assisted by his fellow-passengers, who had

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expeditiously secreted their watches and purses in their boots, and

were now making a general pretence of being asleep. With no

more definite purpose than to escape the hazard of originating any

other kind of action.

The coach lumbered on again, with heavier wreaths of mist

closing round it as it began the descent. The guard soon replaced

his blunderbuss in his arm-chest, and, having looked to the rest of

its contents, and having looked to the supplementary pistols that