"
Lavinia again thanked him, Stephen departed and Lavinia prepared herself
to exercise what patience she possessed. And well she needed patience
for it was past eight and quite dark before the coach appeared at little
more than a walking pace. Then the horses had to be changed, the
coachman roundly anathematising the sinning jibber as the brute was led
in disgrace to the stables; the passengers descended to refresh
themselves and so nearly another hour was wasted.
At last all was ready. Lavinia had booked an inside place and found that
her only fellow passenger was a gouty old gentleman who had been taking
the waters at Bath. The outside passengers were but few, a woman and a
couple of men.
Hounslow was left behind and in due time they entered the road across
Smallbury Green, beyond which was Brentford. The travelling was very bad
and the coach on its leather hangings swung about in all directions. The
conversation--if conversation it could be called--consisted of
fragmentary ejaculations of mingled pain and annoyance from the old
gentleman when his gouty foot was jerked against some part of the coach.
They had not passed over the Green when the clatter of a galloping horse
was heard and almost immediately the coach was pulled up.
"Body o' me," cried the old gentleman in dismay. "What's happened?"
He had an answer in a very few seconds. A big pistol, its barrel
gleaming in the moonlight, was thrust through the coach window and
behind the pistol was a masked horseman.
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