They rode down through the night, going very slowly, with the heavy sound of tired horses plodding over wet grass, and the wind blowing about them in restless gusts. They could see nothing but the glimmer of the light, nor could they even tell from what place it came, save that it most probably burned behind a casement because of its steadiness against the night. They passed a few spectral trees that spread out into flat tops from short, knotted trunks. Then a vague, black mass seemed to rise against the opaque sky. Mr. Pepys, who had pushed on a few feet ahead, leaned forward in the saddle, straining his eyes to see what was before him. They had passed the trees by scarcely twenty paces when there was a sharp, scuffling sound, and the ring of something metallic against stone. John Gore saw the shadowy outline of horse and man swerve violently, and back past him over the grass. His beast carried Mr. Pepys into the boughs of a thorn-tree, yet, though tangled up with his periwig in his mouth, he managed to shout and warn John Gore. “Hold back, John, for the love of God! There’s a wall in front of us, and water beyond it.” John Gore dismounted and ran to help his friend, whose scared horse was raking him through the thorn boughs. He caught the animal’s bridle and quieted him, so that Mr. Pepys was able to slip out of the saddle. “Where the devil are we now, John? Heaven help my poor face! I feel as though I had married fifteen wives, and all of them with finger-nails and tempers.” “Hold the horses and I’ll reconnoitre.” “Do, good John; but first let me find my hat.” Outlined dimly by the light were two massive pillars that looked as though they flanked a gate. Moving very cautiously, John Gore found a bridge of tree-trunks across a moat, and a heavy gate at the end thereof. Peering through the crevice between the hinge-edge and the pillar, he could see the light burning behind a window near the ground. “Where are you, John?” “Here, over the bridge. There is a gate here, barred. The place must be of some size to have such a moat round it. I will try a shout.” He gave a seaman’s hail, while Mr. Pepys, who was a man of many tricks, put two fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill whistle. The light did not move, but they heard the deep baying of a dog, and then footsteps coming out into the yard. The steps paused, as though some one was listening, and a voice growled out an order to the dog. “Halloo, there!” The footsteps approached the gate. A man’s voice called to them from the other side, and they could hear the dog rubbing his snout along the lower edge and sniffing. “Who’s there?” “We have lost our way, and want a night’s lodging.” “Who’s who?” “Two gentlemen travelling alone. Open the gate, my good fellow, and take us in—” “Deuce take you, that I shall not.” Mr. Pepys, who had led the horses forward, put in a bland appeal.