"Your best course would be to make for Tonbridge, bearing to the right when you strike the high road."
The Postilion nodded, and, gathering up the reins, turned to stare at me once more, while I stood in the gleam of the lanthorn.
"Well?" I inquired.
"Eyes," said he, rubbing his chin very hard, as one at a loss, "eyes, i-dentical—nose, same—mouth, when not bloody, same—'air, same—everything, same—Lord love me!"
"Pembry would be nearer," said I, "and the sooner he is between the sheets the better."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Postilion with a slow nod, and drawing out the word unduly, "and talking o' sheets and beds—what about my second passenger? I started wi' two, and 'ere's only one—what about Number Two what about—'er?"
"Her!" I repeated.
"'Er as was with 'im—Number One—'er what was a-quarrelling wi' Number One all the way from London—'er as run away from Number One into the wood, yonder, what about Number Two—'er?"
"Why, to be sure—I had forgotten her!"
"Forgotten?" repeated the Postilion, "Oh, Lord, yes!" and leaning over, he winked one eye, very deliberately; "forgotten 'er—ah!—to be sure—of course!" and he winked again.