"Now, zur, coach be going."

The most unpleasant part of the ceremony of hanging (scarcely excepting
the closing act) must be the hourly notice given to the culprit, of the
exact length of time he has yet to live. Could any circumstance have
added much to the miseries of my situation, most assuredly it would have
been those unfeeling reminders. "I'm coming," groaned I; "I have only
to pull on my boots." They were both left-footed! Then must I open the
rascally portmanteau again.

"What in the name of the--do you want now."

"Coach be gone, please zur."

"Gone! Is there a chance of my overtaking it?"

"Bless 'ee, noa, zur; not as Jem Robbins do droive. He be vive mile off
be now."

"You are certain of that?"

"I warrant 'ee, zur."

At this assurance I felt a throb of joy, which was almost a compensation
for all my sufferings past. "Boots," said I, "you are a kind-hearted
creature, and I will give you an additional half-crown. Let the house be
kept perfectly quiet, and desire the chambermaid to call me--"

"At what o'clock, zur?"