Gloria willingly followed her, and took the benefit of all her offered services. Then, feeling much better, she slipped a piece of money in the poor girl’s hand and went down stairs, where an excellent supper awaited them. Whatever the mental troubles of the young pair might be, the long journey over the snow-clad and frozen roads, and through the pure, exhilarating air of mid-winter had given them fine, healthy appetites, and they both did full justice to the coffee, corn-bread and venison steaks that were set before them. Immediately after supper they entered the heavy wagon, into which their luggage had already been placed, and settled themselves to continue their journey to Gryphynshold. “Mind, Tubal,” called the landlord to his negro driver, “you take the lower road! It is the longest, but it is the safest.” “Yes, sar,” responded the darkey. “And when you get to the Devil’s Backbreaker be sure to jump off and lead the mules all the way up, or there’ll be an accident. Do you mind?” “Yes, sar.” “And when you come to Sinking Creek, be certain to look out for the water-post, to see if it is low enough to ford.” “Yes, sar.” “And when you get up to Peril Ledge get off and lead the beasts again; and mind you be very careful! I don’t want another broken neck broughten back here for a crowner’s quest.” “No, sar.” “Now, then, start, and mind what I tell you.” “Yes, sar,” said Tubal, and as he slowly set his mules in motion, he muttered to himself: “’Tain’t de dangers ob goin’ dere to old Grippinwolf—omphe! no! I don’t mind goin’ dere, but as to stayin’ dere all night to res’ de mules—no, sar!—not Tubal!” “What are you talking about, old man?” inquired David Lindsay. But by this time they had reached the edge of the river, and Tubal’s whole attention was engaged in driving his mules on to the great flat ferry-boat, upon which stood four men with very long poles to push it over. Nothing more was said until after they had reached the other side and Tubal had driven the wagon off the boat on to a road running between the front of the precipice and the river. “What is the matter with old Gryphynshold that you would not stay all night in the place?” again questioned David Lindsay, whose interest in the ancient house had been deeply excited by the story of the last owner. “What de matter long ob Grippinwolf, you ax? Now, look here, young marster, I dunno who yer is, nor what yer arter comin’ up here to Grippinwolf, whar no decent Christian hasn’t been visitin’ in de memory ob man! But you jes’ take a fool’s advice an’ turn right square roun’ an’ go right straight back whar yer come from. Don’t keep on to Grippinwolf,” said the old man, solemnly. “Why shouldn’t we go on? What is the matter with Gryphynshold, I ask you again?” inquired David.