ling snow.

Before reaching Charing Cross, one of the drivers lifted the rug which
hung across the front of the coach between us and the box and asked:--

"Did you say, sir, to take the road across the Common from
Saint-Martin's-in-the-Fields?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Then, sir, have your pistols ready, for it is the worst bloody stretch
of road about London for highwaymen, though I doubt if they be out on a
night like this."

"You're not afraid?" I asked.

"Devil a bit, sir! I'd rather fight than eat, but I thought maybe your
honors would rather eat."

He cracked his whip, and soon we were over the dangerous ground,
travelling along on the Oxford Road at a fine gallop. On reaching the
open country the wind gave us its full force, there being no doors to our
coach, and soon our rugs were covered with snow. But George and I were
wrapped to our chins, and Bettina nestled cozily down in her corner
untouched by the storm.

After leaving Westminster, we had no means of knowing our rate of
progress, for there were no houses near the road, and, if there had been,
we should not have known them. The drivers kept the horses in a strong
trot, at times a vigorous gallop, and I judged that we were making nearly
three leagues an hour. At that rate it would require perhaps two hours to
reach the shrine mentioned by Lilly.

We had instructed the men on the box to watch for a sharp bend in the
road just before crossing a bourne, and we, too, began to watch soon
after leaving Westminster. After what seemed to be a long time, George
asked me to make a flare in my tinder box, while he caught a glimpse
of the face of his watch. This I did under the rug, and, much to our
disgust, we found that we had been less than twenty minutes on the road,
so provokingly had time lagged.

After our disappointment we lay back in the coach, determined to ignore
time, and thereby perhaps hasten it. In truth, time's lagging was not
unpleasant for me, in one respect, at least, for Bettina was by my side.
I found delight in keeping her well tucked about with rugs, so that not
even a breath of the storm nor a flake of snow could reach her. She wore
a great fur hood which buttoned under her chin, almost covering her face
and falling in a soft warm curtain to her shoulders and bosom. She was
warm, and aside from our great cause of anxiety, I believe, was happy.
I wished a hundred times that George were in another coach, though had
he been, I well knew t