It was on the following day that Eleanor, looking forth, decided that there was a change in the weather, which decidedly entitled her to the ride she had spoken of to Otho. The clouds had parted, and the blue smiled forth, and the sun lent his aid to enliven the prospect. Eleanor promptly ordered her horse to be saddled and brought round immediately after an early lunch. In obedience to this order, it appeared, and she was ready for it shortly before two o’clock. She found the lad William holding her horse, and Barlow, the old butler, standing at the door. William, it is necessary to state, was not a native of Bradstane, nor, indeed, of Teesdale at all, but of Swaledale, to the south, of which locality he was very proud, and concerning which he was in the habit of relating many tales of wonder. It was a subject on which his mistress already loved to draw him out, and he was nothing loath to discourse upon it. He had begun to plume himself amongst the other servants on being Miss Askam’s own retainer, and would have felt bitterly injured had she selected any one but himself as her attendant. She told old Barlow that she did not expect to be back much before five, and he, by reason of long service, and in the capacity of ‘friend of the family,’ took upon himself to ask if he might venture to inquire in which direction she thought of riding. ‘Oh yes, Barlow, you had, perhaps, better know. I think of going round by Cotherstone, to a place called Catcastle.’ ‘It’s a very wild country, miss,’ said Barlow, with a look of alarm. ‘A very bleak road, indeed, Miss Askam, for a winter’s day.’ ‘It is not like a winter’s day this afternoon, and I shall do nothing rash, you may be sure,’ she said, repressing with a little feeling of guiltiness the further information that ‘romantic Deepdale’s slender rill’ had taken such hold on her imagination, that after carefully consulting an ordnance map, and finding that all the three places—Cotherstone, Catcastle, and Deepdale—were within a circuit of ten miles, she had resolved to see them that afternoon. ‘I don’t think Mr. Askam would quite approve,’ began Barlow, with an anxious look. ‘Oh, Mr. Askam is away,’ said Eleanor, wilfully. ‘And, Barlow, be sure to have some tea quite ready by five o’clock, for I am sure I shall want it very badly when I get in.’ So saying, she chirped to her horse, and it carried her quickly round the bend in the drive, William following her. Barlow stood at the door, and shook his venerable head. ‘A real Askam for wilfulness,’ he said within himself, ‘but as sweet as an angel in temper. Eh, dear! If poor dear Mr. Otho was but a bit more like her! I don’t know where he’ll end, I’m sure.’ Again shaking his head with the true Jeremiah shake of an old retainer who sees his most cherished prejudices overridden by a new generation, Barlow closed the hall-door and retired to his own quarters.