He is choke-full of hope and life, notwithstanding the cold, and kicks his heels against the back-board, and would like to sing, only he doesn't know how his friend the silent guard might take it.
And now the dawn breaks at the end of the fourth stage, and the coach pulls up at a little roadside inn with huge stables behind.

There is a bright fire gleaming through the red curtains of the bar window, and the door is open.

The coachman catches his whip into a double thong, and throws it to the hostler; the steam of the horses rises straight up into the air.

He has put them along over the last two miles, and is two minutes before his time.

He rolls down from the box and into the inn.
The guard rolls off behind.