To do this with the fat
horses, he must start early,--a fact of which Frances had received due
notice.
On the appointed morning she was ready when the coach drove up. Her box
was placed in the boot, and she took a seat beside her old friend Roger,
giving vent to the tears she had held back so bravely while saying
good-by to her father and Sarah, who were to move up to London in case
she remained at court.
Wheezy old Noah on the box cracked his whip, the fat horses in the traces
pulled and grunted, the coach creaked and groaned, the wheels turned and
Frances had set forth, a maiden St. George, to fight the dragon of
Whitehall, compared to which the old-time monster was but a bleating
lamb. Roger had hoped to be in his brother's house long before sundown,
but when he reached that justly famous halfway house, the Cock and Spur,
Noah insisted that the fat horses were so badly winded that a rest of
several hours was necessary before they could proceed a step farther.
Roger argued with his Master of Horse, but to no purpose. The fat horses
rested till near the hour of five, when Noah yielded to his master's
importunities and the journey was resumed. Meantime an unexpected rain
had begun to fall, which increased in violence as night approached. The
road grew heavier as the journey progressed, and the wheezy horses
required rest so frequently that Roger began to fear for the safety of
his gold and his fair passenger.
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