On the morning of the following day he was up with the sun, and he asked of the landlord that he might have an early breakfast. He had promised Cordelia that he would come up to the Castle, and go with her to the river if the day was fair. He had run his best boat up to the Park landing, as it had been their intention to enjoy a sail. He feared now, however, that they might have to postpone it. The news he had received of the presence in the neighborhood of Ralph Tryon made a difference. He did not feel that he ought, for any length of time, to be beyond easy reach of Donald Rodney. But he would go to the castle, as he had promised, and explain the situation; and he had no doubt that the proposed sail would be given up cheerfully. After that he would see the earl, and inform him what had happened; and then he might return to the village and await further intelligence from his friends of the brig. About this, however, he could not decide until he had seen Cordelia and the earl. Good Martin had his young guest’s breakfast ready for him about as soon as he was ready to sit down; and, as a matter of sociality, ate with him. But he found not a very entertaining companion. There was too much in the youth’s mind--too much that was perplexing and harrowing--to admit the introduction of new topics to his thoughts. The old publican understood, and gave him full sympathy; so the meal passed off very cheerfully after all. And then, away for the castle. He went on foot; but many horses would have gone more slowly. He covered the ground as does one who walks for a wager, or on whose speed depends momentous results. In fact, he was very anxious; and there was no particular reason, known to him, why he should be. He knew very well that his darling would not complain at the loss of her sail, when she came to know the cause of its postponement. Yet he was anxious. It was not eight o’clock when he reached the castle. His watch said, ten minutes of it. “Ho, Master Percy! the young lady and her maid have been gone this half-hour. Her ladyship said we were to tell you that they’d be found at the landing, where your boat is, or so near by that you can’t miss ’em.” So said old Michael, the steward, who was the first person our hero saw on his arrival. “You are sure she said to the landing, Michael?” “Of course I am. I put up the luncheon for ’em; and she told me how she was going when I gave it to Mary.” “She knows which landing it was that I left my boat at?” “She said the Park landing, and there is but one that I know of by that name.” “That is so,” the young man nodded, and then, without stopping for further remark, he turned about and started toward the river. His course was in a northerly direction, and the distance to the landing three-quarters of a mile. Not quite two-thirds of the way was down the gentle slope of the open, velvety park, and beyond was a belt of woods, but entirely free from wildwood or the tangle of underbrush.