Mr. Fullarton and his family completed the party, which was confined to the Molyneux's set. The chaplain was strangely nervous, fussy, and important: it seemed as if the possession of some weighty secret that he was eager, yet afraid to divulge, had disturbed his phlegmatic complacency. He took the first opportunity of beseeching Miss Tresilyan to be allowed to act as her escort: it was customary on all these expeditions that each dame and demoiselle, besides the professional muleteer, should be attended by at least one "dismounted skirmisher." Cecil was rather puzzled by the petition, and by the earnest way in which it was preferred; but she was too happy to deny any body any thing just then; besides which she felt conscious of having visited her pastor of late with a certain amount of neglect, not to say contumely. So she consented, graciously; but the sidelong glance at Keene, asking for his sympathy, did not escape her reverend cavalier. It was evident that Mr. Fullarton had something on his mind that he intended to impart to his companion; but it was equally clear that he did not see his way to the confidence. The path turned abruptly across the line of hills; and while he was hesitating and looking about for a fair opening, it got so steep and rugged that it soon left him no breath for the disclosure. Before they had gone half a league the divine was decidedly in difficulties; he rolled hither and thither, panting painfully, like one who has already endured all the burden and heat of the day. Still he clung obstinately to Cecil's bridle-rein, rather assisted than assisting, till they reached a point where the road resembled greatly a flight of garret stairs, without any regularity in the steps thereof. The mule and its leader stumbled together; the former recovered itself cleverly after the fashion of its kind; but such a _tour de force_ far exceeded the exhausted energies of the pursy pastor. He was fairly "down upon his head."