The evening was just opening as he entered the walk which led to the public footway. But he was so impatient to join his friend, in accordance with the request of the anonymous letter, that he walked at a smart pace, never thinking that he might arrive at the appointed spot before he would be expected. As he approached the scene of the appointment, one of Sir Edgar’s servants--the same that had assisted him to repel the attack of the robbers--met and passed him; but Hildebrand was so bound up in the enterprise he had in hand, and the thoughts and expectations connected with it, and to which he probably attached more importance than was their due, that he rendered no acknowledgment of the servant’s salute. Some half-dozen paces more brought him to the footway, and he turned out of the walk, and took a few steps into the open area adjoining. A cluster of shrubs grew by the side of the footway, whence they swept back, with diminished volume, to the park-walk, where they were arrested by the tall trees with which the walk was bounded. They were well adapted to afford any person who sought to avoid observation a secure hiding-place, but they might, nevertheless, have failed to incur the particular attention of Hildebrand, only that a sound just now broke from them, like the tread of a man’s foot on dead leaves, that led him to believe they were not untenanted. Regarding them more attentively, he distinguished the figure of a man, wrapped in a capacious cloak, crawling along between the shrubs; and the next moment Bernard Gray--for he it was--confronted him. “How farest thou, Master Bernard?” said Hildebrand, extending his hand. “Indifferently well,” replied Bernard, accepting his proffered hand and clasping it cordially; “and how dost thou?” “I’faith, well enough in body, Bernard,” answered Hildebrand, “but somewhat ill in mind. Thy note came duly to hand, and, to speak sooth, was but timely; for I must leave these parts to-morrow.” “Thou know’st my retreat,” said Bernard, “in case thou hadst not heard from me. ’Tis still at the Angel.” “I should have sought thee there,” replied Hildebrand. “Dost leave here i’ the morning?” asked Bernard. “I would thou couldst wait, if it be possible, till thou seest me again.” “I will wait till the even,” answered Hildebrand; “but what is thy purpose?” “I will tell thee, first, to be of a wary habit, and have a care that thou comest not in the way of Master Shedlock,” returned Bernard. “I have it on good warranty that he knows thou art here.” “I fear him not,” rejoined Hildebrand. “But what wouldst thou have me stay for?” “This hoary villain,” said Bernard, “who keeps thee from thy birthright of Clifford Place, which he calls New Bethlehem, hath a wife, who, albeit she holds him in an idolatrous love, hath yet a spice of goodness in her temper; and I would have leave from her to bring thee and her to a parley.” “Wherefore wouldst thou this?” asked Hildebrand.