There was a faint moonlight as the four of us rode away across the moor towards Darrington. It was then one o’clock in the morning, and the air was of a biting keenness that seemed to penetrate to the very bones. Master Drumbleforth, muffled to his eyes, stooped over his horse’s neck and said naught; Merciful Wiggleskirk rode in front, humming a psalm tune to keep his jaws from chattering; Alison and I rode side by side in the rear, both occupied, I think, with our own thoughts, which were--if I may judge by my own--of that diverse complexion which is made up of sweet and bitter. For first I cursed the fate that drove me and my bride from the house where we should have settled down in peace and comfort, and then I blessed the day that had given me to wife the woman whom I loved with a deep and abiding passion. And somehow the happiness of the last thought drove out the bitterness of the first, and as we swept past the hedgerows and trees in the faint moonlight, I began to feel a sense of elation that made me bold and resolute to encounter whatever further peril lay before us. At his parsonage house in Darrington village, Master Drumbleforth drew rein and took leave of us, bidding us God-speed, and wishing us a safe deliverance from all our dangers. We called back our thanks to him, and rode swiftly forward through the sleeping village until we came to the Great North Road. At the corner of the inn stables, Merciful drew rein. “I am half undecided,” says he, “whether to go forward through Womersley and Snaith or to turn along the north road, and cross the river at Ferrybridge. What say you, master?” “’Tis more likely to be safe by Snaith than by Ferrybridge,” says I. “Fairfax’s troopers are in force along the river-side at Ferrybridge.” A window in the inn was thrown open above us, and a man looked out as if to enquire our business. Merciful turned his horse. “Do as I do,” says he, in a whisper. “By Ferrybridge, then,” he says in a loud voice, and rode away up the hill. Alison and I followed. We were half a mile outside the village before Merciful spoke again. “We are not for Ferrybridge after all,” says he. “I liked not the throwing up of that window, for the man who put his head out is in a position to say which way we have gone. Therefore, I came along the north road. We will now turn down this by-lane, and rejoin the Womersley road at Stapleton. Do you see my meaning, master?” “Clearly,” says I. “Though I don’t see who can follow us.” “Best give no chance,” he says. “We can’t be too careful. I shall breathe more freely when we’re across the Aire, and in a fair way for Hull.”