"Yes, sir; but they say that the road for eight miles is very bad, and they must go it almost at a walk."
That is certainly pleasant, thought I, but I'm in for it now, so can't help it.
In a few minutes I was up and dressed, and so perfectly transformed by the addition of a brown scratch-wig and large green spectacles, and a deep-flapped waistcoat, that my servant, on re-entering my room, could not recognise me. I followed him now across the barrack-yard, as, with my pistol-case under one arm and a lantern in his hand, he proceeded to the barrack-gate.
As I passed beneath the adjutant's window, I saw a light—the sash was quickly thrown open, and Curzon appeared.
"Is that you, Harry?"
"Yes—when do you start?"
"In about two hours. I've only eight miles to go—you have upwards of twelve, and no time to lose. God bless you, my boy—we'll meet soon."
"Here's the carriage, sir; this way."
"Well, my lads, you know the road I suppose?"
"Every inch of it, your honour's glory; we're always coming it for doctors and 'pothecaries; they're never a week without them."