"Ah" the road-mender continued, "you do not know that the road is under repair; you will find it cut up about a mile farther on, and it is impossible to pass." "Indeed!" "You must take the road on the left, that runs to Carency, and cross the river; when you reach Camblin you will turn to the right, for it is the Mont St. Eloy road that runs to Arras." "But I shall lose my way in the dark." "You do not belong to these parts?" "No." "And it is a cross-road; stay, sir," the road-mender continued; "will you let me give you a piece of advice? Your horse is tired, so return to Tinques, where there is a good inn; sleep there, and go to Arras to-morrow." "I must be there to-night." "That is different. In that case go back to the inn all the same, and hire a second horse. The stable boy will act as your guide across the country." He took the road-mender's advice, turned back, and half an hour after passed the same spot at a sharp trot with a strong second horse. A stable lad, who called himself a postilion, was sitting on the shafts of the cart. Still he felt that he had lost time, for it was now dark. They entered the cross-road, and it soon became frightful; the cart tumbled from one rut into another, but he said to the postilion,-- "Keep on at a trot, and I will give you a double fee." In one of the jolts the whipple-tree broke. "The whipple-tree is broken, sir," said the postilion, "and I do not know how to fasten my horse, and the road is very bad by night. If you will go back and sleep at Tinques, we can get to Arras at an early hour to-morrow." He answered, "Have you a piece of rope and a knife?" "Yes, sir." He cut a branch and made a whipple-tree; it was a further loss of twenty minutes, but they started again at a gallop. The plain was dark, and a low, black fog was creeping over the hills. A heavy wind, which came from the sea, made in all the corners of the horizon a noise like that of furniture being moved. All that he could see had an attitude of terror, for how many things shudder beneath the mighty breath of night! The cold pierced him, for he had eaten nothing since the previous morning. He vaguely recalled his other night-excursion, on the great plain of D---- eight years before, and it seemed to him to be yesterday. A clock struck from a distant steeple, and he asked the lad,-- "What o'clock is that?" "Seven, sir, and we shall be at Arras by eight, for we have only three leagues to go."