When this enormous epistle was finished and sealed, the young gentleman put it in his pocket and went downstairs. His pace was hastened by the fact that he could hear the joyful yelping of dogs in the hall, from which he gathered that someone besides himself was bent on outdoor exercise. Indeed, as he reached the hall and caught his hat from one of the dusty antlers, he saw the two younger Miss Graydons setting out amid their leaping and yelping escorts. He hurried after and overtook them. "May I come with you?" he asked eagerly. "I've a very important letter to post, and if you're going to the village you might perhaps point out the post-office. I'm such a duffer at finding out things for myself." "But we're turning our backs on the village," said Miss Sylvia, "going in exactly the opposite direction." "Oh, well, then, it doesn't matter; the letter can wait till another time." "Though it is so important. Oh, but you must post it. We'll put you on the way for the village. You turn to the right and we to the left when we reach the gate; then you'll walk straight into the arms of the post-office." Pamela, who had not yet spoken, turned her heavenly-coloured eyes on her sister, but without speaking. Something in the look made the young fellow's heart throb suddenly. "Ah, Miss Sylvia," he said imploringly, "don't put difficulties in my way. I want to come for a walk, if you will have me, and the letter can wait. I'm not contemplative enough to enjoy a country walk alone; and it will be a pleasure to walk with you and your sister." "And the dogs?" "And the dogs. The joys of a country walk are doubled in the society of dogs." "I hope you'll think so when you have the felicity of fishing them out of a bog-hole. They will chase every beast they see; and our neighbour, Jack Malone's black cow, Polly, always leads them such a dance, ending up deservedly in a bog-hole." "I'll try to endure even that, Miss Sylvia." "Then if Mark Antony gets a thorn in his paw, as he almost invariably does, you'll have to carry him home." "He must weigh three stone, Miss Sylvia." "About that, Sir Anthony." "Then it is better I should carry him than you." "Oh, if you're bent on it, Sir Anthony." "If you're not bent against it, Miss Sylvia." "Well, come along then, for this is the parting of the ways." They had arrived at the gate by this time. "Sylvia should have told you, Sir Anthony, that though we turn our backs on the village, yet we pass a wall letter-box, which the postman empties on his way to Lettergort." It was Pamela speaking for the first time, and in this less hoydenish mood of hers she had a likeness to her gentle elder sister. "I'm not surprised to hear it, Miss Pamela. I guessed Miss Sylvia was only piling up the difficulties to tease me. But I was not to be put off." "You are really a most persistent person, Sir Anthony." "I know when I want a thing and mean to get it, Miss Sylvia."