The next morning Charley set out to waylay them at a certain point on their homeward journey. I did not propose to accompany him. I preferred having him speak for me first, not knowing how much they might have heard to my discredit, for it was far from probable the matter had been kept from them. After he had started, however, I could not rest, and for pure restlessness sent Styles to fetch my mare. The loss of my sword was a trifle to me now, but the proximity of the place where I should henceforth be regarded as what I hardly dared to realize, was almost unendurable. As if I had actually been guilty of what was laid to my charge, I longed to hide myself in some impenetrable depth, and kept looking out impatiently for Styles’s return. At length I caught sight of my Lilith’s head rising white from the hollow in which the farm lay, and ran up to my room to make a little change in my attire. Just as I snatched my riding-whip from a hook by the window, I spied a horseman approaching from the direction of the park gates. Once more it was Mr Coningham, riding hitherward from the windy trees. In no degree inclined to meet him, I hurried down the stair, and arriving at the very moment Styles drew up, sprung into the saddle, and would have galloped off in the opposite direction, confident that no horse of Mr Coningham’s could overtake my Lilith. But the moment I was in the saddle, I remembered there was a pile of books on the window-sill of my uncle’s room, belonging to the library at the Hall, and I stopped a moment to give Styles the direction to take them home at once, and, having asked a word of Miss Pease, to request her, with my kind regards, to see them safely deposited amongst the rest. In consequence of this delay, just as I set off at full speed from the door, Mr Coningham rode round the corner of the house. ‘What a devil of a hurry you are in, Mr Cumbermede!’ he cried. ‘I was just coming to see you. Can’t you spare me a word?’ I was forced to pull up, and reply as civilly as might be. ‘I am only going for a ride,’ I said, ‘and will go part of your way with you if you like.’ ‘Thank you. That will suit me admirably, I am going Gastford way. Have you ever been there?’ ‘No,’ I answered. ‘I have only just heard the name of the village.’ ‘It is a pretty place. But there’s the oddest old church you ever saw, within a couple of miles of it--alone in the middle of a forest--or at least it was a forest not long ago. It is mostly young trees now. There isn’t a house within a mile of it, and the nearest stands as lonely as the church--quite a place to suit the fancy of a poet like you! Come along and see it. You may as well go one way as another, if you only want a ride.’ ‘How far is it?’ I asked. ‘Only seven or eight miles across country. I can take you all the way through lanes and fields.’