Hugo complied. Very soon they were rattling through the main street. Hugo’s attention was taken up with the guiding of his cattle. Sebastian leaned back, a little wearily, and was long silent, until they had left the town behind them--left the dirty straggling suburb called Bridgehouse, and passed through the neighbouring manufacturing village of Hamerton, with its stately houses of gentry and rich mill-owners, and were put out upon a wide, open road, driving past a solemn old house called Stanlaw, deeply sunk in trees. Beyond that, the purple moors spread before them, rising every moment higher and nearer. The sky was pure, the air sweet. As if with a sudden impulse, they both turned and looked behind them. A heavy cloud of smoke showed where Thanshope lay below, in the distance. Hugo shrugged his shoulders. ‘Comfort yourself,’ said Sebastian. ‘It won’t be there long. Soon we shall see what Thanshope looks like without smoke.’ They drove quickly on in the sharp, delicious October afternoon air, along the upland road. The heather sprang from the very roadside, and rich, mellow purple, brown, and crimson, the moors spread themselves around, under the pale, chill blue of the cloudless sky. The peculiar scent of the ling and heather rose like a pastoral incense around them; far away glittered the sinuous line of a canal, and a silvery pond or two. The crack of a gun broke the stillness once or twice. ‘Did I not tell you I would bring you into the country?’ said Hugo. ‘You always manage to keep your promises, somehow’ (they were speaking German now). ‘How goes the music under these changed conditions, Hugo?’ The lad smiled his odd smile, and said, ‘The more prosaic the surroundings, the more need one has of something like music to brighten them. Don’t you think so?’ ‘Just so. I only asked because I have not noticed you practising, and as for sitting down and listening to you--why, the last time I did that was when Miss Spenceley was at the Oakenrod.’ ‘You have been so busy. I have practised hard enough, only your mind was taken up with other things.’ ‘Ay, with things less artistic than the Sonatas of Beethoven.’ ‘But not more earnest and workmanlike. Do you know, I like this Thanshope. There is something real in the life these people lead.’ ‘There is so! And in the things they say, and the way in which they remind you of your duties. There is a fellow I am very curious to know something more about. Do you remember that brusque individual who confronted us the first time we drove to the office?’ ‘Perfectly well. Do you never see him?’ ‘Oh, daily. I have just had another shindy with him. He piques me excessively. Every time I see the fellow, with his handsome face and defiant eyes--he _has_ a pair of eyes--I feel as if I must stop and question him upon his thoughts and feelings. It is a most insane idea, and I know it makes him exceedingly angry; but it is so, all the same. What is that air you are humming, Hugo?’