one chaise, but I'll get them to
look alive."

In spite of his stamping with impatience, and conducting himself in a
most unreasonable manner, even to going into the yard himself, and
hoisting the sluggish post-boy--a youth of about sixty--into his jacket,
a full quarter of an hour elapsed before the chaise began to rattle out
of the yard with the traveller in it.

"Here--hi! stop!" shouted a voice, as they turned down the main street.

"What the deuce now?" exclaimed the traveller, as the post-boy pulled
up, after nearly running into a flock of sheep, and the waiter came
panting up.

"Please, sir, you ain't paid for the cigar, and sherry and biscuit,"
exclaimed the man, in injured tones.

"Confound it, no!" cried the young man. "And--I say, I haven't got my
portmanteau! There, my man, look sharp, whatever you do!"

Five minutes more elapsed, but at length the bill was paid, the
portmanteau secured to the front, and the crazy vehicle was once more
well under weigh, the young sailor fuming the while with impatience.
But as soon as the town was passed, liberal promises sent the shabby
cattle scuffling along at a pretty good pace; and when the traveller had
about given up all hopes of again seeing the face that had attracted his
attention, the first post-chaise became visible, slowly crawling up one
of the hills about half-way between Lincoln and Marshton, when again
urging on the post-boy, the vehicle was at length overtaken, and whilst
passing it the young man's heart leaped as he again caught sight of the
fair traveller, leaning forward to see who was passing, but withdrawing
instantly upon seeing that she was the object of attention.

Twice did Brace Norton find the opportunities for a short glance at the
now averted face: once during the stages, and again when they changed
horses at Marshton; but now, to his disgust, it seemed that he had been
favoured with worse cattle than before; and in spite of his urging the
fresh post-boy--a native of "Sorrey," as he took an opportunity of
assuring his employer--it seemed that he was to be left entirely at the
rear, to see the face no more.

But the golden spur prevailed; and as the young lieutenant saw that they
were gaining rapidly, he threw himself back, muttering, "What a thing it
is that there are no women at sea! It only wants their presence to make
it perfect. I wonder who those can be, though? On a visit somewhere.
Jove! What luck if it's anywhere near us