As I sat in this state of mind, I suddenly felt some one clap me on the shoulder, and heard a voice say, “Ha! comrade of the dingle, what chance has brought you into these parts?” I turned round, and beheld a man in the dress of a postillion, whom I instantly recognized as he to whom I had rendered assistance on the night of the storm.
“Ah!” said I, “is it you? I am glad to see you, for I was feeling very lonely and melancholy.”
“Lonely and melancholy,” he replied, “how is that? how can any one be lonely and melancholy with such a noble horse as that you hold by the bridle?”
“The horse,” said I, “is one cause of my melancholy, for I know not in the world what to do with it.”
“It is your own?”
“Yes,” said I, “I may call it my own, though I borrowed the money to purchase it.”
“Well, why don’t you sell it?”
“It is not always easy to find a purchaser for a horse like this,” said I; “can you recommend me one?”
“I? Why no, not exactly; but you’ll find a purchaser shortly—pooh! if you have no other cause for disquiet than that horse, cheer up, man, don’t be cast down. Have you nothing else on your mind? By the bye, what’s become of the young woman you were keeping company with in that queer lodging place of yours?”
“She has left me,” said I.