whose bearing under the trial had been irreproachable were much the
reverse. The postillion smoked--he was a lord on his horse; he beheld my
gentleman trudging in the dust. Awhile he enjoyed the contrast, dividing
his attention between the footfarer and moon. To have had the last word
is always a great thing; and to have given my gentleman a lecture,
because he shunned a dispute, also counts. And then there was the poor
young fellow trudging to his father's funeral! The postillion chose to
remember that now. In reality, he allowed, he had not very much to
complain of, and my gentleman's courteous avoidance of provocation (the
apparent fact that he, the postillion, had humbled him and got the better
of him, equally, it may be), acted on his fine English spirit. I should
not like to leave out the tobacco in this good change that was wrought in
him. However, he presently astonished Evan by pulling up his horses, and
crying that he was on his way to Hillford to bait, and saw no reason why
he should not take a lift that part of the road, at all events. Evan
thanked him briefly, but declined, and paced on with his head bent.

'It won't cost you nothing-not a sixpence!' the postillion sang out,
pursuing him. 'Come, sir! be a man! I ain't a hintin' at anything--
jump in.'

Evan again declined, and looked out for a side path to escape the fellow,
whose bounty was worse to him than his abuse, and whose mention of the
sixpence was unlucky.

'Dash it!' cried the postillion, 'you're going down to a funeral--
I think you said your father's, sir--you may as well try and get there
respectable--as far as I go. It's one to me whether you're in or out;
the horses won't feel it, and I do wish you'd take a lift and welcome.
It's because you're too much of a gentleman to be beholden to a poor man,