The mare turned her head, whinnying as he came towards her.
"Good lass!" He mounted lightly and patted her glossy neck. Then he leaned sideways in the saddle to speak again to Salter, who stood beside him, one hand on the bridle.
"The cloak?"
"Behind you, sir."
"My wig?"
"Yes, sir."
"Pistols?"
"Ready primed, sir."
"Good. I shall be in Lewes in time for dinner—with luck."
"Yes, sir. Ye—ye will have a care?" anxiously.