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

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

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 su