"An' last of all he fell i' love wi' her: an' that broke her."


"One day--the tale goes--she made up her mind an' ordered a shay an'
pair from the Pack-Horse. The postillion was to be waitin' by the
gate o' the deer-park--the only gate that hadn't a lodge to it--at
ten o'clock that night. 'Twas past nine afore dinner was done, an'
she got up from her end o' the table an' walked across to kiss th'
ould fellow. He, 'pon his side, smiled on her, pleased as Punch; for
'twas little inore'n a fortni't since he'd discovered she was the
yapple of his eye. She said 'Good night' an' went up-stairs to pack
a few things in a bag, he openin' the door and shuttin' it upon her.
Then he outs wi' his watch, waits a couple o' minutes, an' slips out
o' the house.

"At five minutes to ten comes my ladyship, glidin' over the short
turf o' the deer-park, an' glancin' over her shoulder at the
light in his lordship's libery window. 'Twas burnin' in true
watch-an'-fear-nothin' style, an' there, by the gate, was the shay
and horses, and postillion, wrapped up and flapping his arms for
warmth, who touched his cap and put down the steps for her.

"'Drive through Tregarrick,' says she, 'an' don't spare whip-cord.'

"Slam went the door, up climbed the postillion, an' away they went
like a house afire. There was half-a-moon up an' a hoar frost
gatherin', an' my lady, lean in' back on the cushions, could see the
head and shoulders of the postillion bob-bobbing, till it seemed his
head must work loose and tumble out of his collar.