npm - paginar - Versions diffs - 0.1.0 - Mend

paginar 0.1.0

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package/.editorconfig +13 -0
package/.env +1 -0
package/.vscode/extensions.json +3 -0
package/README.md +14 -0
package/demo/slot/slot-chapter1.html +142 -0
package/demo/slot/slot-chapter2.html +359 -0
package/demo/slot/slot-chapter3.html +259 -0
package/demo/summary/_content/1chapter.html +97 -0
package/demo/summary/_content/2chapter.html +311 -0
package/demo/summary/_content/3chapter.html +211 -0
package/demo/summary/index.html +99 -0
package/dist/favicon.ico +0 -0
package/dist/index.es.js +10224 -0
package/dist/index.es.js.map +1 -0
package/dist/style.css +975 -0
package/index.html +18 -0
package/package.json +35 -0
package/postcss.config.js +7 -0
package/public/favicon.ico +0 -0
package/src/App.ce.vue +104 -0
package/src/assets/main.css +100 -0
package/src/components/EngineWrapper.vue +23 -0
package/src/components/FileContent.ce.vue +20 -0
package/src/components/FooterSlot.ce.vue +22 -0
package/src/components/HeaderSlot/HeaderSlot.ce.vue +37 -0
package/src/components/HeaderSlot/OptionsButton/OptionsButton.ce.vue +63 -0
package/src/components/HeaderSlot/OptionsButton/OptionsColor.vue +28 -0
package/src/components/HeaderSlot/OptionsButton/OptionsColumns.vue +41 -0
package/src/components/HeaderSlot/OptionsButton/OptionsDropdown.vue +40 -0
package/src/components/HeaderSlot/OptionsButton/OptionsFontFamily.vue +17 -0
package/src/components/HeaderSlot/OptionsButton/OptionsFontSize.vue +17 -0
package/src/components/HeaderSlot/SummaryButton/SummaryButton.ce.vue +64 -0
package/src/components/HeaderSlot/SummaryButton/SummaryDropdown.vue +29 -0
package/src/components/NavigationButton.ce.vue +34 -0
package/src/components/ReaderWrapper.vue +16 -0
package/src/components/icons/Close.vue +6 -0
package/src/components/icons/DoubleColumn.vue +15 -0
package/src/components/icons/Expand.vue +7 -0
package/src/components/icons/Eye.vue +9 -0
package/src/components/icons/Home.vue +6 -0
package/src/components/icons/Moon.vue +5 -0
package/src/components/icons/SingleColumn.vue +3 -0
package/src/components/icons/Summary.vue +10 -0
package/src/components/icons/Sun.vue +5 -0
package/src/components/icons/ThreeDots.vue +8 -0
package/src/composables/useEstimatePages.js +28 -0
package/src/composables/usePagination.js +57 -0
package/src/composables/useReaderSettings.js +125 -0
package/src/composables/useStyles.js +38 -0
package/src/composables/useTextContent.js +40 -0
package/src/main.js +21 -0
package/src/tailwind.css +975 -0
package/tailwind.config.js +12 -0
package/vite.config.js +32 -0

package/demo/slot/slot-chapter3.html ADDED Viewed

@@ -0,0 +1,259 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html>
+<html lang="en">
+<head>
+	<meta charset="UTF-8" />
+	<link rel="icon" href="/favicon.ico" />
+	<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0" />
+	<title>Slot - Paginar</title>
+</head>
+<body>
+	<div id="app">
+		<paginate-content
+			id="pagination-el"
+			book-title="A Tale of Two Cities"
+		>
+			<div slot="header">
+				<img src="https://sabia.pub/images/logo-mobile-dark.svg" style="height: 40px">
+			</div>
+			<div slot="content">
+				<h2>
+					CHAPTER III.<br>The Night Shadows
+				</h2>
+				<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> wonderful fact to reflect upon, that
+					every human creature is constituted
+					to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn
+					consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those
+					darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every
+					one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the
+					hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a
+					secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness, even of Death
+					itself, is referable to this. No more can I turn the leaves of this dear
+					book that I loved, and vainly hope in time to read it all. No more can I
+					look into the depths of this unfathomable water, wherein, as momentary
+					lights glanced into it, I have had glimpses of buried treasure and other
+					things submerged. It was appointed that the book should shut with a
+					spring, for ever and for ever, when I had read but a page. It was
+					appointed that the water should be locked in an eternal frost, when the
+					light was playing on its surface, and I stood in ignorance on the shore.
+					My friend is dead, my neighbour is dead, my love, the darling of my soul,
+					is dead; it is the inexorable consolidation and perpetuation of the secret
+					that was always in that individuality, and which I shall carry in mine to
+					my life’s end. In any of the burial-places of this city through which I
+					pass, is there a sleeper more inscrutable than its busy inhabitants are,
+					in their innermost personality, to me, or than I am to them?
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					As to this, his natural and not to be alienated inheritance, the messenger
+					on horseback had exactly the same possessions as the King, the first
+					Minister of State, or the richest merchant in London. So with the three
+					passengers shut up in the narrow compass of one lumbering old mail coach;
+					they were mysteries to one another, as complete as if each had been in his
+					own coach and six, or his own coach and sixty, with the breadth of a
+					county between him and the next.
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					The messenger rode back at an easy trot, stopping pretty often at
+					ale-houses by the way to drink, but evincing a tendency to keep his own
+					counsel, and to keep his hat cocked over his eyes. He had eyes that
+					assorted very well with that decoration, being of a surface black, with no
+					depth in the colour or form, and much too near together—as if they
+					were afraid of being found out in something, singly, if they kept too far
+					apart. They had a sinister expression, under an old cocked-hat like a
+					three-cornered spittoon, and over a great muffler for the chin and throat,
+					which descended nearly to the wearer’s knees. When he stopped for drink,
+					he moved this muffler with his left hand, only while he poured his liquor
+					in with his right; as soon as that was done, he muffled again.
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“No, Jerry, no!” said the messenger, harping on one theme as he rode. “It
+					wouldn’t do for you, Jerry. Jerry, you honest tradesman, it wouldn’t suit
+					<i>your</i> line of business! Recalled—! Bust me if I don’t think
+					he’d been a drinking!”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					His message perplexed his mind to that degree that he was fain, several
+					times, to take off his hat to scratch his head. Except on the crown, which
+					was raggedly bald, he had stiff, black hair, standing jaggedly all over
+					it, and growing down hill almost to his broad, blunt nose. It was so like
+					Smith’s work, so much more like the top of a strongly spiked wall than a
+					head of hair, that the best of players at leap-frog might have declined
+					him, as the most dangerous man in the world to go over.
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					While he trotted back with the message he was to deliver to the night
+					watchman in his box at the door of Tellson’s Bank, by Temple Bar, who was
+					to deliver it to greater authorities within, the shadows of the night took
+					such shapes to him as arose out of the message, and took such shapes to
+					the mare as arose out of <i>her</i> private topics of uneasiness. They
+					seemed to be numerous, for she shied at every shadow on the road.
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					What time, the mail-coach lumbered, jolted, rattled, and bumped upon its
+					tedious way, with its three fellow-inscrutables inside. To whom, likewise,
+					the shadows of the night revealed themselves, in the forms their dozing
+					eyes and wandering thoughts suggested.
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					Tellson’s Bank had a run upon it in the mail. As the bank passenger—with
+					an arm drawn through the leathern strap, which did what lay in it to keep
+					him from pounding against the next passenger, and driving him into his
+					corner, whenever the coach got a special jolt—nodded in his place,
+					with half-shut eyes, the little coach-windows, and the coach-lamp dimly
+					gleaming through them, and the bulky bundle of opposite passenger, became
+					the bank, and did a great stroke of business. The rattle of the harness
+					was the chink of money, and more drafts were honoured in five minutes than
+					even Tellson’s, with all its foreign and home connection, ever paid in
+					thrice the time. Then the strong-rooms underground, at Tellson’s, with
+					such of their valuable stores and secrets as were known to the passenger
+					(and it was not a little that he knew about them), opened before him, and
+					he went in among them with the great keys and the feebly-burning candle,
+					and found them safe, and strong, and sound, and still, just as he had last
+					seen them.
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					But, though the bank was almost always with him, and though the coach (in
+					a confused way, like the presence of pain under an opiate) was always with
+					him, there was another current of impression that never ceased to run, all
+					through the night. He was on his way to dig some one out of a grave.
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					Now, which of the multitude of faces that showed themselves before him was
+					the true face of the buried person, the shadows of the night did not
+					indicate; but they were all the faces of a man of five-and-forty by years,
+					and they differed principally in the passions they expressed, and in the
+					ghastliness of their worn and wasted state. Pride, contempt, defiance,
+					stubbornness, submission, lamentation, succeeded one another; so did
+					varieties of sunken cheek, cadaverous colour, emaciated hands and figures.
+					But the face was in the main one face, and every head was prematurely
+					white. A hundred times the dozing passenger inquired of this spectre:
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“Buried how long?”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					The answer was always the same: “Almost eighteen years.”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“You had abandoned all hope of being dug out?”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“Long ago.”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“You know that you are recalled to life?”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“They tell me so.”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“I hope you care to live?”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“I can’t say.”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“Shall I show her to you? Will you come and see her?”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					The answers to this question were various and contradictory. Sometimes the
+					broken reply was, “Wait! It would kill me if I saw her too soon.”
+					Sometimes, it was given in a tender rain of tears, and then it was, “Take
+					me to her.” Sometimes it was staring and bewildered, and then it was, “I
+					don’t know her. I don’t understand.”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					After such imaginary discourse, the passenger in his fancy would dig, and
+					dig, dig—now with a spade, now with a great key, now with his hands—to
+					dig this wretched creature out. Got out at last, with earth hanging about
+					his face and hair, he would suddenly fan away to dust. The passenger would
+					then start to himself, and lower the window, to get the reality of mist
+					and rain on his cheek.
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					Yet even when his eyes were opened on the mist and rain, on the moving
+					patch of light from the lamps, and the hedge at the roadside retreating by
+					jerks, the night shadows outside the coach would fall into the train of
+					the night shadows within. The real Banking-house by Temple Bar, the real
+					business of the past day, the real strong rooms, the real express sent
+					after him, and the real message returned, would all be there. Out of the
+					midst of them, the ghostly face would rise, and he would accost it again.
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“Buried how long?”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“Almost eighteen years.”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“I hope you care to live?”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“I can’t say.”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					Dig—dig—dig—until an impatient movement from one of the
+					two passengers would admonish him to pull up the window, draw his arm
+					securely through the leathern strap, and speculate upon the two slumbering
+					forms, until his mind lost its hold of them, and they again slid away into
+					the bank and the grave.
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“Buried how long?”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“Almost eighteen years.”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“You had abandoned all hope of being dug out?”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“Long ago.”
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					The words were still in his hearing as just spoken—distinctly in his
+					hearing as ever spoken words had been in his life—when the weary
+					passenger started to the consciousness of daylight, and found that the
+					shadows of the night were gone.
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					He lowered the window, and looked out at the rising sun. There was a ridge
+					of ploughed land, with a plough upon it where it had been left last night
+					when the horses were unyoked; beyond, a quiet coppice-wood, in which many
+					leaves of burning red and golden yellow still remained upon the trees.
+					Though the earth was cold and wet, the sky was clear, and the sun rose
+					bright, placid, and beautiful.
+				</p>
+				<p>
+					“Eighteen years!” said the passenger, looking at the sun. “Gracious
+					Creator of day! To be buried alive for eighteen years!”
+				</p>
+			</div>
+		</paginate-content>
+	</div>
+	<script>
+			const settings = {
+				baseFont: 'Verdana, sans-serif',
+			}
+			const content = {
+				summary: [
+					{ title: 'Chapter 1', link: '/demo/slot/slot-chapter1.html' },
+					{ title: 'Chapter 2', link: '/demo/slot/slot-chapter2.html' },
+					{ title: 'Chapter 3', link: '/demo/slot/slot-chapter3.html' }
+				]
+		}
+		const paginationEl = document.getElementById('pagination-el')
+		if (paginationEl) {
+			paginationEl.setAttribute("reader-settings", JSON.stringify(settings))
+			paginationEl.setAttribute("book-content", JSON.stringify(content))
+		}
+	</script>
+	<script type="module" src="/src/main.js"></script>
+</body>
+</html>

package/demo/summary/_content/1chapter.html ADDED Viewed

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+<h2>
+	CHAPTER I.<br>The Period
+</h2>
+<p>
+	It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of
+	wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was
+	the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season
+	of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we
+	had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going
+	direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short,
+	the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest
+	authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the
+	superlative degree of comparison only.
+</p>
+<p>
+	There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the
+	throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a
+	fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than
+	crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that
+	things in general were settled for ever.
+</p>
+<p>
+	It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five.
+	Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as
+	at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth
+	blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had
+	heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made
+	for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost
+	had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages,
+	as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in
+	originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of
+	events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of
+	British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more
+	important to the human race than any communications yet received through
+	any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.
+</p>
+<p>
+	France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister
+	of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill,
+	making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian
+	pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements
+	as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with
+	pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the
+	rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his
+	view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough
+	that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees,
+	when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate,
+	to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework
+	with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough
+	that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to
+	Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts,
+	bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by
+	poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils
+	of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work
+	unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with
+	muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that
+	they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.
+</p>
+<p>
+	In England, there was scarcely an amount of order and protection to
+	justify much national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and
+	highway robberies, took place in the capital itself every night; families
+	were publicly cautioned not to go out of town without removing their
+	furniture to upholsterers’ warehouses for security; the highwayman in the
+	dark was a City tradesman in the light, and, being recognised and
+	challenged by his fellow-tradesman whom he stopped in his character of
+	“the Captain,” gallantly shot him through the head and rode away; the mail
+	was waylaid by seven robbers, and the guard shot three dead, and then got
+	shot dead himself by the other four, “in consequence of the failure of his
+	ammunition:” after which the mail was robbed in peace; that magnificent
+	potentate, the Lord Mayor of London, was made to stand and deliver on
+	Turnham Green, by one highwayman, who despoiled the illustrious creature
+	in sight of all his retinue; prisoners in London gaols fought battles with
+	their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law fired blunderbusses in among
+	them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball; thieves snipped off diamond
+	crosses from the necks of noble lords at Court drawing-rooms; musketeers
+	went into St. Giles’s, to search for contraband goods, and the mob fired
+	on the musketeers, and the musketeers fired on the mob, and nobody thought
+	any of these occurrences much out of the common way. In the midst of them,
+	the hangman, ever busy and ever worse than useless, was in constant
+	requisition; now, stringing up long rows of miscellaneous criminals; now,
+	hanging a housebreaker on Saturday who had been taken on Tuesday; now,
+	burning people in the hand at Newgate by the dozen, and now burning
+	pamphlets at the door of Westminster Hall; to-day, taking the life of an
+	atrocious murderer, and to-morrow of a wretched pilferer who had robbed a
+	farmer’s boy of sixpence.
+</p>
+<p>
+	All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in and close upon
+	the dear old year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Environed
+	by them, while the Woodman and the Farmer worked unheeded, those two of
+	the large jaws, and those other two of the plain and the fair faces, trod
+	with stir enough, and carried their divine rights with a high hand. Thus
+	did the year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five conduct their
+	Greatnesses, and myriads of small creatures—the creatures of this
+	chronicle among the rest—along the roads that lay before them.
+</p>

package/demo/summary/_content/2chapter.html ADDED Viewed

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+<h2>
+	CHAPTER II.<br>The Mail
+</h2>
+<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was the Dover road that lay, on a Friday
+	night late in November, before
+	the first of the persons with whom this history has business. The Dover
+	road lay, as to him, beyond the Dover mail, as it lumbered up Shooter’s
+	Hill. He walked up hill in the mire by the side of the mail, as the rest
+	of the passengers did; not because they had the least relish for walking
+	exercise, under the circumstances, but because the hill, and the harness,
+	and the mud, and the mail, were all so heavy, that the horses had three
+	times already come to a stop, besides once drawing the coach across the
+	road, with the mutinous intent of taking it back to Blackheath. Reins and
+	whip and coachman and guard, however, in combination, had read that
+	article of war which forbade a purpose otherwise strongly in favour of the
+	argument, that some brute animals are endued with Reason; and the team had
+	capitulated and returned to their duty.
+</p>
+<p>
+	With drooping heads and tremulous tails, they mashed their way through the
+	thick mud, floundering and stumbling between whiles, as if they were
+	falling to pieces at the larger joints. As often as the driver rested them
+	and brought them to a stand, with a wary “Wo-ho! so-ho-then!” the near
+	leader violently shook his head and everything upon it—like an
+	unusually emphatic horse, denying that the coach could be got up the hill.
+	Whenever the leader made this rattle, the passenger started, as a nervous
+	passenger might, and was disturbed in mind.
+</p>
+<p>
+	There was a steaming mist in all the hollows, and it had roamed in its
+	forlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding
+	none. A clammy and intensely cold mist, it made its slow way through the
+	air in ripples that visibly followed and overspread one another, as the
+	waves of an unwholesome sea might do. It was dense enough to shut out
+	everything from the light of the coach-lamps but these its own workings,
+	and a few yards of road; and the reek of the labouring horses steamed into
+	it, as if they had made it all.
+</p>
+<p>
+	Two other passengers, besides the one, were plodding up the hill by the
+	side of the mail. All three were wrapped to the cheekbones and over the
+	ears, and wore jack-boots. Not one of the three could have said, from
+	anything he saw, what either of the other two was like; and each was
+	hidden under almost as many wrappers from the eyes of the mind, as from
+	the eyes of the body, of his two companions. In those days, travellers
+	were very shy of being confidential on a short notice, for anybody on the
+	road might be a robber or in league with robbers. As to the latter, when
+	every posting-house and ale-house could produce somebody in “the
+	Captain’s” pay, ranging from the landlord to the lowest stable
+	non-descript, it was the likeliest thing upon the cards. So the guard of
+	the Dover mail thought to himself, that Friday night in November, one
+	thousand seven hundred and seventy-five, lumbering up Shooter’s Hill, as
+	he stood on his own particular perch behind the mail, beating his feet,
+	and keeping an eye and a hand on the arm-chest before him, where a loaded
+	blunderbuss lay at the top of six or eight loaded horse-pistols, deposited
+	on a substratum of cutlass.
+</p>
+<p>
+	The Dover mail was in its usual genial position that the guard suspected
+	the passengers, the passengers suspected one another and the guard, they
+	all suspected everybody else, and the coachman was sure of nothing but the
+	horses; as to which cattle he could with a clear conscience have taken his
+	oath on the two Testaments that they were not fit for the journey.
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Wo-ho!” said the coachman. “So, then! One more pull and you’re at the top
+	and be damned to you, for I have had trouble enough to get you to it!—Joe!”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Halloa!” the guard replied.
+</p>
+<p>
+	“What o’clock do you make it, Joe?”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Ten minutes, good, past eleven.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“My blood!” ejaculated the vexed coachman, “and not atop of Shooter’s yet!
+	Tst! Yah! Get on with you!”
+</p>
+<p>
+	The emphatic horse, cut short by the whip in a most decided negative, made
+	a decided scramble for it, and the three other horses followed suit. Once
+	more, the Dover mail struggled on, with the jack-boots of its passengers
+	squashing along by its side. They had stopped when the coach stopped, and
+	they kept close company with it. If any one of the three had had the
+	hardihood to propose to another to walk on a little ahead into the mist
+	and darkness, he would have put himself in a fair way of getting shot
+	instantly as a highwayman.
+</p>
+<p>
+	The last burst carried the mail to the summit of the hill. The horses
+	stopped to breathe again, and the guard got down to skid the wheel for the
+	descent, and open the coach-door to let the passengers in.
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Tst! Joe!” cried the coachman in a warning voice, looking down from his
+	box.
+</p>
+<p>
+	“What do you say, Tom?”
+</p>
+<p>
+	They both listened.
+</p>
+<p>
+	“I say a horse at a canter coming up, Joe.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“<i>I</i> say a horse at a gallop, Tom,” returned the guard, leaving his
+	hold of the door, and mounting nimbly to his place. “Gentlemen! In the
+	king’s name, all of you!”
+</p>
+<p>
+	With this hurried adjuration, he cocked his blunderbuss, and stood on the
+	offensive.
+</p>
+<p>
+	The passenger booked by this history, was on the coach-step, getting in;
+	the two other passengers were close behind him, and about to follow. He
+	remained on the step, half in the coach and half out of; they remained in
+	the road below him. They all looked from the coachman to the guard, and
+	from the guard to the coachman, and listened. The coachman looked back and
+	the guard looked back, and even the emphatic leader pricked up his ears
+	and looked back, without contradicting.
+</p>
+<p>
+	The stillness consequent on the cessation of the rumbling and labouring of
+	the coach, added to the stillness of the night, made it very quiet indeed.
+	The panting of the horses communicated a tremulous motion to the coach, as
+	if it were in a state of agitation. The hearts of the passengers beat loud
+	enough perhaps to be heard; but at any rate, the quiet pause was audibly
+	expressive of people out of breath, and holding the breath, and having the
+	pulses quickened by expectation.
+</p>
+<p>
+	The sound of a horse at a gallop came fast and furiously up the hill.
+</p>
+<p>
+	“So-ho!” the guard sang out, as loud as he could roar. “Yo there! Stand! I
+	shall fire!”
+</p>
+<p>
+	The pace was suddenly checked, and, with much splashing and floundering, a
+	man’s voice called from the mist, “Is that the Dover mail?”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Never you mind what it is!” the guard retorted. “What are you?”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“<i>Is</i> that the Dover mail?”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Why do you want to know?”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“I want a passenger, if it is.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“What passenger?”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Mr. Jarvis Lorry.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	Our booked passenger showed in a moment that it was his name. The guard,
+	the coachman, and the two other passengers eyed him distrustfully.
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Keep where you are,” the guard called to the voice in the mist, “because,
+	if I should make a mistake, it could never be set right in your lifetime.
+	Gentleman of the name of Lorry answer straight.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“What is the matter?” asked the passenger, then, with mildly quavering
+	speech. “Who wants me? Is it Jerry?”
+</p>
+<p>
+	(“I don’t like Jerry’s voice, if it is Jerry,” growled the guard to
+	himself. “He’s hoarser than suits me, is Jerry.”)
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Yes, Mr. Lorry.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“What is the matter?”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“A despatch sent after you from over yonder. T. and Co.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“I know this messenger, guard,” said Mr. Lorry, getting down into the road—assisted
+	from behind more swiftly than politely by the other two passengers, who
+	immediately scrambled into the coach, shut the door, and pulled up the
+	window. “He may come close; there’s nothing wrong.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“I hope there ain’t, but I can’t make so ’Nation sure of that,” said the
+	guard, in gruff soliloquy. “Hallo you!”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Well! And hallo you!” said Jerry, more hoarsely than before.
+</p>
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+	<img src="images/0414m.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="0414m "><br>
+</div>
+<h5>
+	<a href="images/0414.jpg" style="width:100%;"><i>Original</i></a>
+</h5>
+<p>
+	“Come on at a footpace! d’ye mind me? And if you’ve got holsters to that
+	saddle o’ yourn, don’t let me see your hand go nigh ’em. For I’m a devil
+	at a quick mistake, and when I make one it takes the form of Lead. So now
+	let’s look at you.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	The figures of a horse and rider came slowly through the eddying mist, and
+	came to the side of the mail, where the passenger stood. The rider
+	stooped, and, casting up his eyes at the guard, handed the passenger a
+	small folded paper. The rider’s horse was blown, and both horse and rider
+	were covered with mud, from the hoofs of the horse to the hat of the man.
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Guard!” said the passenger, in a tone of quiet business confidence.
+</p>
+<p>
+	The watchful guard, with his right hand at the stock of his raised
+	blunderbuss, his left at the barrel, and his eye on the horseman, answered
+	curtly, “Sir.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“There is nothing to apprehend. I belong to Tellson’s Bank. You must know
+	Tellson’s Bank in London. I am going to Paris on business. A crown to
+	drink. I may read this?”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“If so be as you’re quick, sir.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	He opened it in the light of the coach-lamp on that side, and read—first
+	to himself and then aloud: “‘Wait at Dover for Mam’selle.’ It’s not long,
+	you see, guard. Jerry, say that my answer was, <i>Recalled to life</i>.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	Jerry started in his saddle. “That’s a Blazing strange answer, too,” said
+	he, at his hoarsest.
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Take that message back, and they will know that I received this, as well
+	as if I wrote. Make the best of your way. Good night.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	With those words the passenger opened the coach-door and got in; not at
+	all assisted by his fellow-passengers, who had expeditiously secreted
+	their watches and purses in their boots, and were now making a general
+	pretence of being asleep. With no more definite purpose than to escape the
+	hazard of originating any other kind of action.
+</p>
+<p>
+	The coach lumbered on again, with heavier wreaths of mist closing round it
+	as it began the descent. The guard soon replaced his blunderbuss in his
+	arm-chest, and, having looked to the rest of its contents, and having
+	looked to the supplementary pistols that he wore in his belt, looked to a
+	smaller chest beneath his seat, in which there were a few smith’s tools, a
+	couple of torches, and a tinder-box. For he was furnished with that
+	completeness that if the coach-lamps had been blown and stormed out, which
+	did occasionally happen, he had only to shut himself up inside, keep the
+	flint and steel sparks well off the straw, and get a light with tolerable
+	safety and ease (if he were lucky) in five minutes.
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Tom!” softly over the coach roof.
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Hallo, Joe.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Did you hear the message?”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“I did, Joe.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“What did you make of it, Tom?”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“Nothing at all, Joe.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	“That’s a coincidence, too,” the guard mused, “for I made the same of it
+	myself.”
+</p>
+<p>
+	Jerry, left alone in the mist and darkness, dismounted meanwhile, not only
+	to ease his spent horse, but to wipe the mud from his face, and shake the
+	wet out of his hat-brim, which might be capable of holding about half a
+	gallon. After standing with the bridle over his heavily-splashed arm,
+	until the wheels of the mail were no longer within hearing and the night
+	was quite still again, he turned to walk down the hill.
+</p>
+<p>
+	“After that there gallop from Temple Bar, old lady, I won’t trust your
+	fore-legs till I get you on the level,” said this hoarse messenger,
+	glancing at his mare. “‘Recalled to life.’ That’s a Blazing strange
+	message. Much of that wouldn’t do for you, Jerry! I say, Jerry! You’d be
+	in a Blazing bad way, if recalling to life was to come into fashion,
+	Jerry!”
+</p>