The sun had not yet set, though it was on the edge of the horizon. Jennie fixed her eyes on the vastness of the brown moor that stretched, or rather rolled, away in all directions to meet the horizon. It reminded her of the sea. It seemed a boundless ocean, enchanted into stillness; for not a breath of air disturbed the motionless heather, and not a hamlet or a farmhouse broke the illusion. No doubt there were farms and villages not far off, but they were in the hollows, out of sight. Presently Jennie turned from the window to look at her baby. The little one was fast asleep again; so was the curate, who had been traveling all night and all day, for twenty-four hours. He had his arms so securely wound around the sleeping child that Jennie forbore to take it away, lest she should disturb their rest. The sun set; twilight faded; yet the train sped on over the moor. Presently Jennie observed twinkling lights before her that seemed to be on the edge of the horizon. As the train sped on toward those lights she recognized them as belonging to a station. Then the steam horn shrieked and waked up all the passengers, and the guide shouted: “Chuxton!” “Here we are, my dear,” said the curate, waking up as the train stopped. There were but few passengers who got out here, and there were all sorts of conveyances waiting for them, from donkey carts to fine coaches. “How far are we from Haymore, papa?” inquired Jennie as her father led her from the train to the waiting-room of the station. “Ten miles, my dear.” “Is there a stagecoach to Haymore?” “No, my dear, but I took the precaution to engage the fly from the Red Fox to meet us here for this train. If it has not come yet—and I do not see it—it will be here soon.” “How much expense I put you to, dear papa!” “Tut, tut! there is a time to spend! Whether there is a time to save or not, while there is the least need anywhere of spending, I really do not know! There’s the fly now!” exclaimed the curate, at the sound of wheels, suddenly breaking off in his discourse and going to the door. “Well, Nahum, you are on time, I see!” said Mr. Campbell, speaking cheerfully to some one in the outer darkness. “Ay, bound to be, sir, when your reverence had bespoken the kerridge,” answered a buoyant voice from the shades. “Come, my dear! But, Nahum, perhaps the mule wants food and water?” “Not she, sir! She had her oats and her water and her mug of ale! You’d no believe, sir, how that lass loves ale! So, with your leave, I’ll e’en give her another mug of that same, whiles she rests five minutes. No longer, your reverence. No longer, sir.” “Quite right. Let us know when you are ready.” The curate sat down by his daughter. In something less than five minutes the voice of the hostler was heard, calling: “All right now, sir. Miss Nancy and me is at your service, sir.” “Miss Nancy?” inquired Jennie as she arose and took her father’s arm.