“Nary a drop, your honour, since nine o’clock las’ night, on my David, sir! But theer she was, your honour, in the middle o’ the fair-way, d’ye see, a-wavin’ of ’er arms wild-like ... wouldn’t move, an’ us nigh a-top of ’er, so pull up I ’ad to, sir.”
“Ah!” quoth Sir John. “And now, my good Addlepate, will you pray inform me what the devil you are stopping for?”
“Why, lord, sir, ain’t I a-tellin’ your honour as she came out o’ the ’edge yonder all suddent-like, an’ waved ’er arms wild-like an’——”
“Aye, my good numbskull, but who?”
“A ’ooman, sir, a precious big ’un in a——”
“Then where is she, my good clod, where is she?”
“Here!” answered a voice.
Sir John spun round upon his heel and very nearly gaped.
She was sitting in the chaise, her eyes very bright, her cheeks a little flushed beneath the hood of the long grey cloak that enfolded her.
For a long moment they gazed at one another speechlessly, while the post-boy sucked at the knob of his whip and stared with eyes round and bright as his buttons, for whose behoof Sir John presently spoke.