“Why, he was just now talking about cutting throats,” said the man.  “You brought it on yourself,” said Belle; “you suspected us, and he wished to pass a joke upon you; he would not hurt a hair of your head, were your coach laden with gold, nor would I.”  “Well,” said the man, “I was wrong—­here’s my hand to both of you,” shaking us by the hands; “I’ll go with you where you please, but I thought this a strange lonesome place, though I ought not much to mind strange lonesome places, having been in plenty of such when I was a servant in Italy, without coming to any harm—­come, let us move on, for ’tis a shame to keep you two in the rain.”

So we descended the path which led into the depths of the dingle; at the bottom I conducted the postillion to my tent, which, though the rain dripped and trickled through it, afforded some shelter; there I bade him sit down on the log of wood, while I placed myself as usual on my stone.  Belle in the meantime had repaired to her own place of abode.  After a little time, I produced a bottle of the cordial of which I have previously had occasion to speak, and made my guest take a considerable draught.  I then offered him some bread and cheese, which he accepted with thanks.  In about an hour the rain had much abated.  “What do you now propose to do?” said I.  “I scarcely know,” said the man; “I suppose I must endeavour to put on the wheel with your help.”  “How far are you from your home?” I demanded.  “Upwards of thirty miles,” said the man.  “My master keeps an inn on the great north road, and from thence I started early this morning with a family which I conveyed across the country to a hall at some distance from here.  On my return I was beset by the thunderstorm, which frightened the horses, who dragged the chaise off the road into the field above, and overset it as you saw.  I had proposed to pass the night at an inn about twelve miles from here on my way back, though how I am to get there to-night I scarcely know, even if we can put on the wheel, for, to tell you the truth, I am shaken by my fall, and the smoulder and smoke of that fire-ball have rather bewildered my head; I am, moreover, not much acquainted with the way.”

“The best thing you can do,” said I, “is to pass the night here; I will presently light a fire, and endeavour to make you comfortable—­in the morning we will see to your wheel.”  “Well,” said the man, “I shall be glad to pass the night here, provided I do not intrude, but I must see to the horses.”  Thereupon I conducted the man to the place where the horses were tied.  “The trees drip rather upon them,” said the man, “and it will not do for them to remain here all night; they will be better out in the field picking the grass, but first of all they must have a good feed of corn;” thereupon he went to his chaise, from which he presently brought two small bags, partly filled with corn—­into them he inserted the mouths of the horses, tying them over their heads.  “Here we will leave them for a time,” said the man; “when I think they have had enough, I will come back, tie their fore-legs, and let them pick about.”