“I ... I thought you would know best, sir,” she answered. “But wherever it be, the sooner we start the better.” “What’s your hurry, Rose?” “’Tis my mistress, sir—the moment she misses me, she’ll come a-galloping back to find me, y’ see; she do rely on me for her curls an’ complexion, your honour.” “Ah,” murmured Sir John, “two highly necessary things to any woman o’ fashion! She will doubtless fly back in quest of ’em.” “Then pray let us go, sir.” “Aye, but how? Here is no sort of conveyance unless it be a posting nag. Can you ride, girl?” “No, sir.” “A-pillion?” “I should tumble off, sir.... But we’ve got legs, your honour——” “Limbs, child!” “An’ I be a good walker an’ main strong, sir——” “Aye, as a goddess o’ the groves and fountains, Rose.” “An’ ’tis a mortal fine night, your honour! And look at the moon—so splendid an’ all!” “Splendid indeed, Rose!” And, opening the lattice, Sir John leaned out into a radiant night very calm and still—breathed an air soft and fragrant, saw the gleaming highway barred and fretted by the black shadows of the sombre trees—a magically alluring road, a way mysterious to woo the adventurous. Sir John sighed and drew in his head. “Y’ are very right, child; the sooner we start the better! In the corner yonder you will find my cloak and pistols; pray bring ’em whiles I scribble a line to my friend.” And sitting down forthwith he took pen and paper and indited the following epistle: “MY DEAR HECTOR,—I have departed for England, but will meet you in High Dering at the earliest moment, where you shall inquire for one, John Derwent. Meanwhile I am, as ever, thy wholly devoted, loving “JOHN DERWENT. “P.S.—I have taken the girl Rose with me.” Having duly sealed and directed which missive, he arose, took up his pistols, examined flint, charge and priming and thrust them into the capacious pockets of his riding-coat; then he enveloped himself in the cloak, softly unbarred and opened the door and, hat in hand, bowed his companion out of the silent inn. “Come, child,” said he, “let us, confident in Fate and each other, seek the unknown together, nothing doubting.” CHAPTER VI OF SOULS, SOLITUDE AND A DUSTY ROAD Very soon they had lost sight of the inn and the magic of the night was all about them, a night of vasty stillness wherein the leaves hung motionless and none moved but themselves, and with no sound to break the slumberous quiet save the tread of their feet. Before them stretched the tree-bordered road leading away and away to distances vague and mysterious, a silvery causeway fretted by purple-black shadows, with, to right and left, a wide prospect of rolling, wooded country. Sir John walked in serene and silent contemplation of earth and heaven until his companion, as though awed by the all-pervading stillness, drew a little nearer and spoke in hushed voice: “’Tis dreadful solitary, sir!”