“It will be dark early, and perhaps wet; look at that cap of mist upon Hey Tor.” The youth glanced at the little cloud. “I shall be home before it descends,” he said; “Good night, landlord,” and he rode quickly away. “Who is yonder stripling?” said a dark-browed stranger, as the landlord re-entered the inn. “The son and heir of Sir Walter Trevannion,” replied the landlord respectfully, for the stranger had announced himself as “travelling on the King’s business,” and was evidently a “man of worship.” “And how do you name him?” “Cuthbert Trevannion, some day to be _Sir_ Cuthbert, when Sir Walter, now past his fiftieth year, is gathered to his fathers.” “And this Sir Walter, what was he doing in _his_ father’s life-time?” “That is hardly known--some say that he was a monk before bluff King Hal pulled down the rookeries, and that he keeps up the old cloister life with a few brethren in the old hall, which he seldom leaves; but that can hardly have been the case, for then how could he have been married and become possessed of so goodly a son?” “And the son--does he confine himself much to the hall?” “Oh, he hunts and hawks like other young men, only he keeps somewhat to the home preserves, and seldom shows abroad.” “Are there any other children?” “No, this is the only child.” “And the mother?” “Died before Sir Walter came home.” “What year was that?” “I cannot remember--but----” “Go to, refresh thy memory with a cup of thine own best sack at my expense, it is before thee on the table.” “Well, I think it was in forty.” “And this youngster seems about twenty years old; he would have been a boy of fourteen then.” “Your worship has some interest in him?” “Nay, only a passing recollection.” * * * * * We will leave the worthies to their talk, and follow the traveller. He had now ridden about three miles from Bovey, when he entered a long pass between two ridges of hills; by his side a trout stream, called the Becky, tumbled along, larch trees grew on the banks, and the heights above were crowded with dwarf oaks, beeches, and other forest trees. Whistling to himself he rode along, hastening to get home ere it was quite dark, for the roads were both difficult and dangerous, save to those who knew them well. Soon the valley contracted, and there was only room for the torrent and the road, while the craggy wooded heights rose yet more lofty above: sometimes, over their summits could be seen the rounded heights of the moorland. The tumbling of a cascade to the left, was heard as the road parted from the river, and began to ascend a dark pass, where the faint decaying light was almost excluded by the foliage.