“No doubt, my lass, but you must wait a little longer; and when he does come back, if he has distinguished, instead of extinguished, himself, he will have the Crimean medal, and perhaps be made a colonel--captain--general--marshal--or even a corporal; who knows? in these war times, every brave man has a chance.” “Thank you, Mr. Coachman, you make me very happy--I shan’t cry any more.” “But, Sally, am I to tell your mistress what you said?” “Oh, dear, no! because I should lose my place; they are not such bad people after all, and master is so very kind to me.” “I shall say nothing about it.” “Pray, say nothing.” “Pst, pst! now, my true blues, full speed for Virginia Water.” In twenty minutes we were before the very picturesque inn called the “Wheatsheaf;” every living soul came out to welcome us, thinking some accident had happened. There was the landlord, landlady, thin and bulky barmaids, house and kitchen maid, cook, pot and post boy, and a number of customers. “What has happened that you are so late to-day?” said the landlord to the coachman. “Nothing particular, governor; only a trace broke, and we had to fetch another: besides, the roads are very slippery.” To the barmaid--“Give us a light, girl, and a go of keep-me-warm.” “Don’t believe him, sir,” exclaimed an old lady, who, upon the sudden stoppage when the trace broke, had a quarrel with the coachman. In opening the window violently, she broke it in twenty pieces; popping her head, half of which was covered with snow, out of the window--“He is a perfect brute,” said she; “he tried to upset us, and then would not move for above an hour at least--see the state I am in; is it not a great shame, a woman like me?” “Well, madam,” said the landlord, “why don’t you shut the window?” “What’s the use of pulling it up?--it’s broken in a thousand pieces, all through that nasty fellow!” “I can assure you, madam, he bears a very good character with the gentry about here.” The coachman, lighting his short pipe, and coming near them, said, “Don’t take notice of the old lady, she means no harm.” “Don’t I, though! I say again, before everybody, you are a brute and a villain!” “Go it, marm, go it,” said he, getting up. “It’s nothing new to me--my wife tells me that every day, which is partly the cause we have no family.” The favourite horse language of the coachman was again, heard--“Fly away to the assault like a set of Zouaves!” and in a few minutes nothing but a small black spot, resembling a fly crossing a sheet of paper, was seen running up the snow-covered hill which leads to the small village of Virginia Water.