The day after that, Gilbert, who had not seen his brother in the interim, ordered his horse early. Mr. Langstroth asked him fretfully where he was going. ‘Only for a little ride,’ said Gilbert; ‘and, by the way, Coningsby is coming at eleven. You told me to tell him, and I did.’ ‘Shan’t you be here?’ asked his father, in a tone almost of dismay. ‘Well, no, I think not,’ replied Gilbert, with his sweetest smile. ‘It would hardly do. But if you have not quite made up your mind, I could send him word——’ ‘Oh no, no! My mind is quite made up—quite. Let him come.’ ‘I think it would be best,’ said the considerate son. ‘Good morning. I hope it won’t tire you much.’ With which he went out. The ‘little ride’ prolonged itself indefinitely, as it seemed. Far along the hard, white moorland roads he went, past Middleton-in-Teesdale, a road which seemed to have some peculiar fascination for him, since he chose it oftener than any other. On he went, till he got to High Force and its solitary wayside inn. Here he dismounted, to have his horse watered; for himself, when they asked him what he would take, he said, ‘Nothing,’ and thanked them. To let his horse stand awhile, he strolled down the dark, pine-shaded path, to the grand waterfall, and stood beside the river, watching dreamily the thundering surf, snowy, dazzling, brilliant in the brilliant sunshine. He stooped, took water in the hollow of his hand, and drank it. This he did several times, but without a change in the calm serenity of his expression; and then he returned to the inn and again mounted his horse. Riding on, he proceeded till nothing but pathless moors surrounded him, stretching lonely and bewildering in all directions. He was on the borders of Westmoreland, and now the westering sun and the lengthening shadows told him that it was time to be returning. Tranquil and quiet as ever, he did turn, and guided his tired horse towards Bradstane. It was dark when he got in, and he trod softly, as if he imagined there might be some one ill or dead in the house. He only laid his hat aside, but did not put off his riding-coat, before he went, still in this quiet, gentle way, into the library, where he found his father alone. ‘Where on earth have you been?’ Mr. Langstroth said fretfully. ‘Michael has never been near all day, and there I was, left with Coningsby, to give all my instructions alone.’ ‘Mr. Coningsby would hardly have been likely to take his instructions from me,’ said Gilbert, with his slight smile. ‘Then, you have got it done?’ ‘Yes, it is done. Rowntree and Ransom’ (his servant) ‘witnessed it. But I want no more of such efforts. It has worn me out.... However, it is some satisfaction to think that things are settled as they should be.’ During this speech, Gilbert had stood with his foot on the fender, and his hand held up as if to shield his face from the glow of the fire. He now observed softly— ‘I will go and change my things, and be with you in a few minutes.’