The driver turned to us and said to our coachman "You are early tonight, my friend."

The man stammered in reply, "The English Herr was in a hurry."

To which the stranger replied, "That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot lie to me, my friend. I know too much, and my horses are swift."

As the driver spoke he smiled. In the lamplight I saw a hard-looking mouth, with very red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as white as ivory. One of my companions whispered a line from Burger's poem "Lenore".

"Denn die Todten reiten Schnell." ("For the dead travel fast.")

The strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up with a gleaming smile. The passenger turned his face away and at the same time he put out his two fingers and crossed himself. "Give me the Herr's luggage," said the driver. With exceeding alacrity my bags were passed to him and put in the ccarriage. Then I descended from the side of the coach, as the carriage was right next to us. The driver helped me with a hand which caught my arm in a grip of steel. He seemed to be enormously strong.