Geoff had been glad of the silence at first; it served to deliver him from those uncomfortable thoughts which had filled his mind, the vagabond’s carelessness reassuring and calming his excitement; for neither the uneasy sense of danger he had started with, nor the equally uneasy sense of the ludicrous which had possessed him, were consistent with the presence of this easy, unexcited companion, who conducted himself as if he were alone, and would stop and listen to the whirr and flutter of wild creatures in the hedgerows or on the edge of the moor, as if he had forgotten Geoff’s very presence. All became simple as they went on, the very continuance of the walk settling down and calming the agitation of the outset. By and by, however, Geoff began to be impatient of the silence, and of the interest his companion showed in everything except himself. Could he be, perhaps, one of the “naturals” who are so common in the North, a little less imbecile than usual, but still incapable of continuous attention? Thus, after his first half-alarmed, half-curious sense of the solemnity of the enterprise, Geoff came back to an everyday boyish impatience of its unusual features and a disposition to return to the lighter intercourse of ordinary life. “How far have we to go now?” he asked. They had come to the end of the level, and were just about to ascend the lower slopes of hilly country which shut in the valley. The fells rising before them made the landscape still more dark and mysterious, and seemed to thrust themselves between the wayfarers’ eyes and that light which seemed to retire more and more into the clear pale shining of the sky. “Tired already?” said the man, with a shrug of his shoulders. He had stopped to investigate a hollow under a great gorse-bush, just below the level of the road, from which came rustlings and scratchings indistinguishable. Bampfylde raised himself with a half-laugh, and came back to Geoff’s side. “These small creatures is never tired,” he said; “they scuds about all day, and sleep that light at night that a breath wakes them; and yet they’re but small, not so big as my hand; and knows their way, they does, wherever they’ve got to go.” “I allow they are cleverer than I am,” said Geoff, good-humouredly, “but then they cannot speak to ask their way. Men have a little advantage. And even I am not so ignorant as you think. I have been on the fells in a mist, and knew my way, or guessed it. At all events, I got home again, and that is something.” “There will be no mist to-night,” said Bampfylde, looking up at the sky. “No; but it is dark enough for anything. Look here, I trust you, and you might trust me. You know why I am going.” “How do you trust me, my young lord?” “Well,” said Geoff; “supposing I am a match for you, one man against another, how can I tell you have not got comrades about? My brother lost his life--by some one connected with you. Did you know my brother?”