The black horse was dancing from hoof to hoof; the curricle swayed rhythmically to his capers, and Pamela felt, when her companion plucked the pistols from the case she held open, as if every fibre of her being were dancing in unison; exhilaration, a sense of splendid adventure, a spice of fear, and a delightful recklessness had hold of her. She almost understood now how the “Mad Brat” could fling everything to the winds for the mere taste of such a moment. Lord Kilcroney thrust the reins into her hands, leaped lightly from his perch; and he, too, seemed to dance in the moonlight as he advanced towards the chaise. The post-boy had prudently pulled up at sight of the obstacle in the road; now, as the pistol barrels glinted in the moonlight, he raised a dismal shout, and dived sideways off the fat grey haunches of his mount. The landlord of the Crown had provided a stalwart plodding pair for Lady Selina’s post-chaise; and these were content enough to draw breath, craning their necks, snorting comfortably down their nostrils, and shuddering in turn till the harness rattled. “How now!” cried an angry voice from the chaise, and Sir Jasper’s head emerged into the moonlight. “What’s the matter? rascal, scamp! Hallo, stap me!” This in quite another tone. “Why, the devil--’tis a highwayman, a footpad!” Kilcroney, who had planted himself sideways, with face concealed by his extended arm, chaunted in the most musical tones he could muster: “Stand and deliver!” Then, breaking into laughter, he disclosed his countenance, with a fine flourish of his mantons; “Stand and deliver,” he repeated. “Jasper, stand and deliver your stolen goods!” There was a faint cry within the chaise, altogether lost in the round volley of oaths from Sir Jasper. He consigned Kilcroney’s soul to perdition, and his body to corruption, with explicitness and repetition, and commanded the post-boy to remount and carry on, if he did not wish to be flayed alive. But the sagacious youth was apparently swallowed in the darkness. Presently Kilcroney’s shouts of laughter were echoed in silver titters both from the chaise and the curricle. These sounds goaded the baronet to madness. “Poor Jasper!” (Kilcroney afterwards related) “He was foaming like a tankard of porter, and was almost as black in the face, by Jingo, when he lepped from the chaise and at me. Troth, he had his sword out, and sure the next moment he would have let the moonlight through me, hadn’t my little lady in the chaise caught him by the skirts of his coat! It was the grand slap he came on the flint of the road--aye, and the grand escape I had of it intirely! ‘Up with you, me boy, and we’ll have it out like gentlemen,’ cries I, and by the time he got up again I was ready for him, as pretty as Angelo, with the barkers back in my pocket and my little bodkin taking the air in my hand.”