"Did he say that he was to take me, too, Sidney?" said Morton, seating himself, and looking very pale. At that question Sidney hung his head. "No, brother--he says you won't go, and that you are a bad boy--and that you associate with wicked people--and that you want to keep me shut up here and not let any one be good to me. But I told him I did not believe that--yes, indeed, I told him so." And Sidney endeavoured caressingly to withdraw the hands that his brother placed before his face. Morton started up, and walked hastily to and fro the room. "This," thought he, "is another emissary of the Beauforts'--perhaps the lawyer: they will take him from me--the last thing left to love and hope for. I will foil them." "Sidney," he said aloud, "we must go hence today, this very hour-nay, instantly." "What! away from this nice, good gentleman?" "Curse him! yes, away from him. Do not cry--it is of no use--you must go." This was said more harshly than Philip had ever yet spoken to Sidney; and when he had said it, he left the room to settle with the landlady, and to pack up their scanty effects. In another hour, the brothers had turned their backs on the town. CHAPTER X. "I'll carry thee In sorrow's arms to welcome Misery." HEYWOOD's Duchess of Sufolk. "Who's here besides foul weather?" SHAKSPEARE Lear. The sun was as bright and the sky as calm during the journey of the orphans as in the last. They avoided, as before, the main roads, and their way lay through landscapes that might have charmed a Gainsborough's eye. Autumn scattered its last hues of gold over the various foliage, and the poppy glowed from the hedges, and the wild convolvuli, here and there, still gleamed on the wayside with a parting smile. At times, over the sloping stubbles, broke the sound of the sportsman's gun; and ever and anon, by stream and sedge, they startled the shy wild fowl, just come from the far lands, nor yet settled in the new haunts too soon to be invaded. But there was no longer in the travellers the same hearts that had made light of hardship and fatigue. Sidney was no longer flying from a harsh master, and his step was not elastic with the energy of fear that looked behind, and of hope that smiled before. He was going a toilsome, weary journey, he knew not why nor whither; just, too, when he had made a friend, whose soothing words haunted his childish fancy. He was displeased with Philip, and in sullen and silent thoughtfulness slowly plodded behind him; and Morton himself was gloomy, and knew not where in the world to seek a future. They arrived at dusk at a small inn, not so far distant from the town they had left as Morton could have wished; but the days were shorter than in their first flight.