I was almost killed between Sheffield Place and East Grinstead by hard, frozen, long, and cross ruts, that would disgrace the approach of an Indian wigwam.

The rest was somewhat less painful, and I reached this place half dead, but not seriously feverish or ill.

I found a dinner invitation from Lord Lucan; but what are dinners to me?
I wish they did not know of my departure.

I catch the flying post.

What an effort! Adieu till Thursday or Friday." The end was not far off.