The rider stooped, and, casting up his eyes at the guard, handed
the passenger a small folded paper. The rider's horse was blown,
and both horse and rider were covered with mud, from the hoofs of
the horse to the hat of the man.
"Guard!" said the passenger, in a tone of quiet business confidence.
The watchful guard, with his right hand at the stock of his raised
blunderbuss, his left at the barrel, and his eye on the horseman,
answered curtly, "Sir."
"There is nothing to apprehend. I belong to Tellson's Bank.
You must know Tellson's Bank in London. I am going to Paris
on business. A crown to drink. I may read this?"
"If so be as you're quick, sir."
He opened it in the light of the coach-lamp on that side,
and read--first to himself and then aloud: "`Wait at Dover for
Mam'selle.' It's not long, you see, guard. Jerry, say that my
answer was, RECALLED TO LIFE."
Jerry started in his saddle. "That's a Blazing strange answer, too,"
said he, at his hoarsest.
"Take that message back, and they will know that I received this,
as well as if I wrote. Make the best of your way.
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