Timothy, the groom, had dismounted: lanthorn in hand, he was examining the cause of the catastrophe. "Get the other lanthorn, Thomas!" he shouted to the driver, "and come and give me a hand, else we’ll have to spend the night on this God-forsaken heath." "Is it serious, Timothy?" queried Lady Patience, anxiously. "I hope not, my lady. The axle is caked with mud on this side, and we do seem stuck in some kind of morass, but if Thomas’ll hurry himself..." The latter, with many more suppressed oaths, had at last got down from his box, and had brought a second lanthorn round to the back of the coach, where Timothy had already started scraping shovelfuls of inky mud from the axle of the off-wheel. It was at this moment, and when the two men were intent upon their work, that a voice, loud and distinct, suddenly shouted behind them,— "Stand and deliver!" Thomas, who was of a timorous disposition, dropped the lanthorn he held, and in his fright knocked over the other which was on the ground. He was a man of peace, and knew from past experience that ’tis safer not to resist these gentlemen of the roads. When therefore the highwayman’s well-known challenge rang out in the night, he threw up both hands in order to testify to his peaceful intentions; but Timothy, who was younger and more audacious, drew a couple of pistols from his belt, and at all hazards fired them off, one after the other, in the direction whence had come the challenge. The next moment he felt a vigorous blow on his wrists and the pistols flew out of his hand. "Hands up or I shoot!" Thomas was already on his knees. Timothy, thus disarmed, thought it more prudent to follow suit. From within the coach could be heard Mistress Betty’s shrill and terrified voice,— "Nay! nay! your ladyship shall not go!" followed by her ladyship’s peremptory command,— "Silence, child! Let me go! Stay you within an you are afraid!" There was a moment’s silence, for at sound of her voice Beau Brocade had started, then he leaned forward on his horse, listening with all his might, wondering if indeed his ears had not misled him, if ’twas not a dream-voice that came to him out of the gloom. "Have I the honour of addressing Lady Rounce?" he murmured mechanically. At this moment the darkness, which up to now had been intense, began slowly to give place to a faint, silvery light. The moon, pale and hazy, tried to pierce the mist that still enveloped her as with a cold, blue mantle, and one by one tipped blackthorn and gorse with a cluster of shimmering diamonds. Like a ghostly panorama the heath revealed its thousand beauties, its many mysteries: the deep, dark tangle of bramble and ling, beneath which hide the gnomes and ghouls, the tiny blue cups of the harebells, wherein the pixies have their home; the fairy rings in the grass, where the sprites dance their wild saraband on nights such as this, with the crickets to play the tunes, and the glow-worms to light them in their revels.