After the ceremony the car-party returned to Beachbourne by way of the sea--climbing High-'nd-over, to drop down into Sea-ford, and home by Birling Gap and Beau-nez. From the almost violent gesture with which Alf had set his engines in motion and drawn out of the lane under the pollarded willows of Parson's Tye, he at least had been glad to turn his back on the scene. Ruth and her husband had returned to Frogs' Hall with the old folk. Later, as the sun began to lower behind Black Cap into the valley of the Ouse, they went up River Lane and picked up the carrier's cart by the market-cross. For the moment they were leaving little Alice with her grandmother while they settled into the Moot, Old Town, where Ernie had found a cottage close to his work, not a quarter of a mile from the home of his father and mother in Rectory Walk. The carrier's cart moved slowly on under the telegraph wires on which the martins were already gathering: for it was September. Now and then Ernie raised the flap that made a little window in the side of the tilt, and looked out at the accompanying Downs, mysterious in the evening. "They're still there," he announced comfortably, "and like to be yet a bit, I reckon." "They move much same pace as us doos, seems to me," said Ruth. "We should get there afoor them yet though," answered Ernie. "Afoor the Day of Judgment we might, if so be we doosn't die o breathlessness first," the woman replied. "You'd like a car to yourself you would," chaffed Ernie. "And Alf drivin you." Ruth turned in her lips. They moved leisurely forward, leaving Folkington clustered about its village-green upon the right, passing the tea-gardens at Wannock, and up the long pull to Willingdon, standing among old gardens and pleasant fig-trees. Once through the village the woods of Hampden Park green-bosomed upon the left, blocked out the marshes and the splendid vision of Pevensey Bay. Now the road emerged from the shelter of hedges and elm-trees and flowed with a noble billowy motion between seas of corn that washed the foot of the Downs and swept over Rodmill to the outposts of Beachbourne. Between the road and the Downs stood Motcombe, islanded in the ruddy sea, amongst its elms and low piggeries. Behind the farm, at the very foot of the hill, was Huntsman's Lodge where once, when both were boys, Alf had betrayed his brother on the occasion of the looting of the walnut-tree. Ern pointed out the spot to his bride and told the tale. Ruth listened with grim understanding. "That's Alf," she said. "Mr. Pigott lived there that time o day," Ern continued. "One of the five Manors of Beachbourne, used to be--I've heard dad say. Belonged to the Salwyns of Friston Place over the hill--the clergy-folk. The farm's where the Manor-house used to be; and the annual sheep-fair was held in a field outside from William the Conqueror till a few years back."