ion, and I'll stan' the price of a pint
to you."

A glance up and down the empty road--and then "Jump in. Wunnerful
weather we're having, aren't us?" So much for the wise regulation!
_Most_ wise regulation, if one understand it properly. For when once
you begin tampering with the inviolable nature of a mail-cart, where
are you to stop? Suppose your chance passenger proves to be not an
honest subject, but a malefactor--_one of a gang_. "Take that, ye
swab." A clump on the side of his head, and the driver is sent
endways from the box-seat; the cart gallops on to where the, rest of
the gang lurk waiting for it; strong arms, long legs, and the
monstrous deed is consummated. Her Majesty's bags have been stolen.

Though so dark in this bedroom, there would be light enough out there.
There was no moon; but the summer night, as he knew, would never
deepen to real obscurity. It would keep all of a piece till dawn, like
a sort of gray dusk, heavy and impenetrable beneath the trees, but
quite transparent on the heath and in the glades; and then it would
become all silvery and trembling; the wet bracken would glisten
faintly, high branches of beech trees would glow startlingly, each
needle on top of the lofty firs would change to a tiny sword of
fire--just as he had seen happen so often years ago, when as an
undisciplined lad he lay out in the woods for his pleasure.

Now! The church clock had struck one. Barring accidents, the cart was
at its goal; and in imagination he saw the junction as clearly as if
he had been standing at Perkins' elbow. There was the train for London
already arrived--steam rising in a straight jet from the engine, guard
and porter with lanterns, and a flood of orange light streaming from
the open doors of the noble Post Office coach. Perkins hands in his up
bag, receives a bag in exchange, and half his task is done. Forty
minutes to wait before he can perform the other half of it. Then,
having passed over the metals with the cart, he will attend to the
down train; hand in his other bag, receive the London bag; and, as
soon as the people in the signal-box will release the crossing-gates,
he may come home.

Dale knew now that he would not sleep until the cart returned.

When the church clock struck the half-hour after two, he lay straining
his ears to catch the sound of the horse's hoofs. Finally it came to
him, immensely remote, a rhythmic plod, plod, plod. Then in a few more
minutes the cart was at res