Hugh stopped where he was, half frightened for the instant, then half inclined to run, when an erect figure stepping from beneath a neighboring tree barred his path. By the long cloak and the staff on which the man leaned Hugh guessed it was his grandfather, even before Master Oldesworth spoke again: “So you are leaving us, Hugh Gwyeth?” “Yes, sir,” Hugh replied defiantly. “So I had judged. You are bound for the near park gate?” Hugh nodded. “You must bear with my company that far.” So side by side they passed down the dark roadway, till presently the trees thinned and the starlight reached them. Then Hugh glanced up at his companion’s face but found it fixed in so stern an expression that he did not care to look again. “You are going to your father?” Master Oldesworth queried after a time. “Yes, sir,” Hugh replied. The defiance had gone from his tone now. At length the dimly seen roadway ran between two huge dark pillars, half hidden by the trees; it was the park gate, Hugh saw, and beyond was the king’s highway. Involuntarily he slackened his pace, and his grandfather halted too, and stood by one of the pillars, resting both hands upon the top of his staff. “Then you have the grace to hesitate a moment,” the old man spoke, “before you leave those who have sheltered you?” Hugh dared not trust his voice to reply, and after a moment Master Oldesworth continued slowly: “It is your mother over again. We reared her and cared for her, and she left us for Alan Gwyeth; and you—Have you not had a home here?” “Yes, sir,” Hugh answered meekly. He knew well that the grievances which were so true when he told them to Lois would be nothing in his grandfather’s sight. “And what has this father for whom you leave us done for you?” Master Oldesworth pursued. “You cannot answer? He broke your mother’s heart and deserted you—” “He is my father,” Hugh replied. “Go to him, then, as your mother did before you. But mark you this, Hugh Gwyeth: I received her back when Alan Gwyeth wearied of her, but I shall never receive you back. Go now, and you go for all time.” “I shall never ask you to take me back.” Hugh tried to speak stoutly, but his voice faltered in an ignoble manner. “Now consider well,” his grandfather continued. “When you pass the gate it will be to me as if you had never lived. Be not rash, Hugh,” he went on more gently. “Come back with me to the house; this folly of yours shall never be known, and I shall look to your welfare as I always have. But if you choose to go to that place of perdition, the king’s camp, and to that evil man, Alan Gwyeth, I forget you are my daughter’s son. Now make your choice between that man and me.” CHAPTER III THE ROAD TO NOTTINGHAM