Identifier: charlesleversnov26leve (find matches)
Title: Charles Lever's novels
Year: 1880 (1880s)
Authors: Lever, Charles James, 1806-1872 Browne, Hablot Knight, 1815-1882
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Publisher: London, New York : G. Routledge and Sons
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: Internet Archive

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a dropof it was sucked. He rubbed the hands, he chafed thebody, he even shook it; but, heavy and inert, it gave nosign of life. Ach, Gott!* muttered he, it is all over! Butstil), with a hope that asked no aid from reason, hewrapped the childs body in his fur mantle, and, layinghim softly down in the cart, continued his way. The lights, which were glittering here and there throughthe little village inns, had been gradually extinguished asthe night grew later, till, at last, none remained, save thosearound the door of the post-house, where a little group ofloungers was gathered. As they talked together, one orother occasionally would step out into the road and seemto listen, and then rejoin his companions. No sign ofhim yet! What can keep him so late as this? criedthe Postmaster, holding up his watch, that the lamp-light should fall on it. It wants but four minutes) toeleven—his time, by right, is half after nine. He is trying the upper road belike, and the deep snowhas detained him.
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He threw himself on the spot, and tore up the snow with his fingers. HORACE TEMPLETON. 237 No, no,* said another, Old Cristoplis too knowingfor that: bad as the lower road is, the upper is worse ;and with the storm of last night, there will be driftthere deep enough to swallow horse and mail-cart twiceover. There may be fallen snow on the lower road, whis-pered a third ; Cristoph told me last week he feared itwould not be safe for another journey. Hes a daring old fellow, said the Postmaster, as heresumed his walk up and down to keep his feet warm ;* but hell try that lower road once too often. He cantbear the upper road because it is a new one, and was notmade when he was a boy. He thinks that the world isnot half so wise, or so good, as it was some fifty yearsback. If he make no greater mistates than that, mutteredan old white-headed hostler, he may be trusted to choosehis own road. Whats that Philip is mumbling? said the Post-master ; but a general cry of Here he comes ! Here heis

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