exclaiming, “See to the horses, I will look after the man.”  She had, it seems, been alarmed by the crash which accompanied the fire-bolt, and had hurried up to learn the cause.  I forthwith seized the horses by the heads, and used all the means I possessed to soothe and pacify them, employing every gentle modulation of which my voice was capable.  Belle, in the meantime, had raised up the man, who was much stunned by his fall; but presently recovering his recollection to a certain degree, he came limping to me holding his hand to his right thigh.  “The first thing that must now be done,” said I, “is to free these horses from the traces; can you undertake to do so?” “I think I can,” said the man, looking at me somewhat stupidly.  “I will help,” said Belle, and without loss of time laid hold of one of the traces.  The man, after a short pause, also set to work, and in a few minutes the horses were extricated.  “Now,” said I to the man, “what is next to be done?” “I don’t know,” said he; “indeed, I scarcely know anything; I have been so frightened by this horrible storm, and so shaken by my fall.”  “I think,” said I, “that the storm is passing away, so cast your fears away too; and as for your fall, you must bear it as lightly as you can.  I will tie the horses amongst those trees, and then we will all betake us to the hollow below.”  “And what’s to become of my chaise?” said the postillion, looking ruefully on the fallen vehicle.  “Let us leave the chaise for the present,” said I; “we can be of no use to it.”  “I don’t like to leave my chaise lying on the ground in this weather,” said the man, “I love my chaise, and him whom it belongs to.”  “You are quite right to be fond of yourself,” said I, “on which account I advise you to seek shelter from the rain as soon as possible.”  “I was not talking of myself,” said the man, “but my master, to whom the chaise belongs.”  “I thought you called the chaise yours,” said I.  “That’s my way of speaking,” said the man; “but the chaise is my master’s, and a better master does not live.  Don’t you think we could manage to raise up the chaise?” “And what is to become of the horses?” said I.  “I love my horses well enough,” said the man; “but they will take less harm than the chaise.  We two can never lift up that chaise.”  “But we three can,” said Belle; “at least, I think so; and I know where to find two poles which will assist us.”  “You had better go to the tent,” said I, “you will be wet through.”  “I care not for a little wetting,” said Belle; “moreover, I have more gowns than one—­see you after the horses.”  Thereupon, I led the horses past the mouth of the dingle, to a place where a gap in the hedge afforded admission to the copse or plantation, on the southern side.  Forcing them through the gap, I led them to a spot amidst the trees, which I deemed would afford them the most convenient place for standing; then, darting down into the dingle, I brought up a rope, and also the halter of my own nag, and with these fastened them each to a separate tree in the best manner I could.  This done, I returned to the chaise and the postillion.  In a minute or two Belle arrived with two poles, which, it seems, had long been lying, overgrown with brushwood, in a ditch or hollow behind the plantation.  With these both she and I set to work in endeavouring to raise the fallen chaise from the ground.