"Go along!" he exclaimed aloud at last, as if to himself for his absurd thoughts; but the pony took the order as being applied to the beast of burden present, and went off at once in a good canter, one that gained spirit from the fact that he knew the way and that way was homewards. So absorbed was Oldroyd that he left the sturdy little animal to itself, and it went pretty swiftly over the driest bits of close, velvety turf, cleverly avoiding the bigger furze clumps, and reaching at last the lighter ground where the fir trees grew. Then it snorted and would have increased its pace, but there were awkward stumps here and there, and slippery places, such as the cleverest pony could not avoid, so the rider drew rein, and let the little steed amble gently along. All at once Philip Oldroyd's heart seemed to stand still, and he checked the pony suddenly, sitting breathless and half stunned, gazing straight before him at a couple of figures passing along the road. He drew a long breath that hissed between his closed teeth; and even a pearl diver might have envied his power of retaining that breath, so long was it before he exhaled it again. Then he turned his pony's head, bent down his darkened face till his chin rested upon his breast, and rode forward again; but the pony began to resist a change which suggested going right away from home. He drummed its ribs fiercely with his heels, and pressed it on, but only to turn its head directly after, forcing himself into a state of composure as he rode quietly by Lucy Alleyne and Rolph, and saluted them as he passed. It was hard work to ride on like that, without looking back, but he mastered himself and went quickly on for some distance before drawing rein, and sitting like a statue upon the pony, which began to graze, and only lifted its head and gave a momentary glance at Lucy, when, sobbing as if she would break her heart, the little lady nearly ran up against the waiting rider and his steed. "Mr Oldroyd!" cried Lucy, after giving vent to that astonished, frightened "Oh!" "Yes, Miss Alleyne," he said coldly, "Mr Oldroyd." "Why--why are you stopping me like that? Oh, I beg your pardon; good-morning!" she cried hastily, and in a quick, furtive way she swept the tears from her eyes, and wiped her pretty little nose, which crying was turning of a pinky hue. "Was I stopping you?" he said, speaking mechanically, and glancing straight before him. "I have been out all night with a patient six miles away." "Indeed!" said Lucy, hastily; "yes, it is a beautiful morning." She went by him without trusting herself to look in his face. "If I did so, I should burst out sobbing," she said to herself. But by the time Lucy had gone half a score yards, Oldroyd was by her side, the pony keeping step with her, pace for pace, while the little woman's breast was heaving with love, sorrow and despair.