Book Two The Woman - Chapter 2 The Postilion

"Good Lord!" exclaimed the Postilion, and fell back a step.

"Well?" said I, meeting his astonished look as carelessly as I
might.

"Lord love me!" said the Postilion.

"What now?" I inquired.

"I never see such a thing as this 'ere," said he, alternately
glancing from me down to the outstretched figure at my feet, "if
it's bewitchments, or only enchantments, I don't like it--strike
me pink if I do!"

"What do you mean?"

"Eyes," continued the Postilion slowly and heavily, and with his
glance wandering still--"eyes, same--nose, identical--mouth, when
not bloody, same--hair, same--figure, same--no, I don't like it
--it's onnat'ral! tha' 's what it is."

"Come, come," I broke in, somewhat testily, "don't stand there
staring like a fool--you see this gentleman is hurt."

"Onnat'ral 's the word!" went on the Postilion, more as though
speaking his thoughts aloud than addressing me, "it's a onnat'ral
night to begin with--seed a many bad uns in my time, but nothing
to ekal this 'ere, that I lost my way aren't to be wondered at;
then him, and her a-jumping out o' the chaise and a-running off
into the thick o' the storm--that's onnat'ral in the second
place! and then, his face, and your face--that's the most
onnat'rallest part of it all--likewise, I never see one man in
two suits o' clothes afore, nor yet a-standing up, and a-laying
down both at the same i-dentical minute--onnat'ral's the word
--and--I'm a-going."