At length, as the hour drew near, he could restrain himself no longer.

He rushed to the stable, saddled his pony, which was in nearly as high spirits as himself, and galloped off to meet the mail.
The sun was nearing the west; a slight shower had just fallen; the thanks of the thirsty earth were ascending in odour; and the wind was too gentle to shake the drops from the leaves.

To Alec, the wind of his own speed was the river that bore her towards him; the odours were wafted from her approach; and the sunset sleepiness around was the exhaustion of the region that longed for her Cytheraean presence.
At last, as he turned a corner of the road, there was the coach; and he had just time to wheel his pony about before it was up with him.

A little gloved hand greeted him; the window was let down; and the face he had been longing for shone out lovelier than ever.

There was no inside passenger but herself; and, leaning with one hand on the coach-door, he rode alongside till they drew near the place where the gig was waiting for them, when he dashed on, gave his pony to the man, was ready to help her as soon as the coach stopped, and so drove her home in triumph to his mother.
Where the coach stopped, on the opposite side of the way, a grassy field, which fell like a mantle from the shoulders of a hill crowned with firs, sloped down to the edge of the road.