Book Two The Woman - Chapter 43 How I Set Out to Face My Destiny

The pallid moon shone down pitilessly upon the dead, white face
that stared up at me through its grime and blood, with the same
half-tolerant, half-amused contempt of me that it had worn in
life; the drawn lips seemed to mock me, and the clenched fists
to defy me still; so that I shivered, and turned to watch the
oncoming light that danced like a will-o'-the-wisp among the
shadows. Presently it stopped, and a voice hailed once more: "Hallo!"

"Hallo!" I called back; "this way--this way!" In a little while
I saw the figure of a man whom I at once recognized as the
one-time Postilion, bearing the lanthorn of a chaise, and, as he
approached, it struck me that this meeting was very much like our
first, save for him who lay in the shadows, staring up at me with
unwinking eyes.

"So ho!" exclaimed the Postilion as he came up, raising his
lanthorn that he might view me the better; "it's you again, is
it?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"Well, I don't like it," he grumbled, "a-meeting of each other
again like this, in this 'ere ghashly place--no, I don't like it
--too much like last time to be nat'ral, and, as you know, I can't
abide onnat'ralness. If I was to ax you where my master was,
like as not you'd tell me 'e was--"