CHAPTER VIII
IN STANSTEAD WOODS
On the first day of June, Anthony and Isabel, with their three armedservants and the French maid behind them, were riding down throughThurrock to the north bank of the Thames opposite Greenhithe. As theywent Anthony pulled out and studied the letter and the little map thatMrs. Kirke had sent to guide them.
"On the right-hand side," she wrote, "when you come to the ferry, standsa little inn, the 'Sloop,' among trees, with a yard behind it. Mr.Bender, the host, is one of us; and he will get your horses on board, anddo all things to forward you without attracting attention. Give him somesign that he may know you for a Catholic, and when you are alone with himtell him where you are bound."
There were one or two houses standing near the bank, as they rode downthe lane that led to the river, but they had little difficulty inidentifying the "Sloop," and presently they rode into the yard, and,leaving their horses with the servants, stepped round into the littlesmoky front room of the inn.
A man, dressed somewhat like a sailor, was sitting behind a table, wholooked up with a dull kind of expectancy and whom Anthony took as thehost; and, in order to identify him and show who he himself was, he tookup a little cake of bread that was lying on a platter on the table, andbroke it as if he would eat. This was one of Father Persons' devices, andwas used among Catholics to signify their religion when they were withstrangers, since it was an action that could rouse no suspicion amongothers. The man looked in an unintelligent way at Anthony, who turnedaway and rapped upon the door, and as a large heavily-built man came out,broke it again, and put a piece into his mouth. The man lifted hiseyebrows slightly, and just smiled, and Anthony knew he had found hisfriend.
"Come this way, sir," he said, "and your good lady, too."
They followed him into the inner room of the house, a kind of littlekitchen, with a fire burning and a pot over it, and one or two barrels ofdrink against the wall. A woman was stirring the pot, for it was neardinner-time, and turned round as the strangers came in. It was plainly aninn that was of the poorest kind, and that was used almost entirely bywatermen or by travellers who were on their way to cross the ferry.
"The less said the better," said the man, when he had shut the door. "Howcan I serve you, sir?"
"We wish to take our horses and ourselves across to Greenhithe," saidAnthony, "and Mrs. Kirke, to whom we are going, bade us make ourselvesknown to you."
The man nodded and smiled.
"Yes, sir, that can be managed directly. The ferry is at the other banknow, sir; and I will call it across. Shall we say in half an hour, sir;and, meanwhile, will you and your lady take something?"
Anthony accepted gladly, as the time was getting on, and ordered dinnerfor the servants too, in the outer room. As the landlord was going to thedoor, he stopped him.
"Who is that man in the other room?" he asked.
The landlord gave a glance at the door, and came back towards Anthony.
"To tell the truth, sir, I do not know. He is a sailor by appearance, andhe knows the talk; but none of the watermen know him; and he seems to donothing. However, sir, there's no harm in him that I can see."
Anthony told him that he had broken the bread before him, thinking he wasthe landlord. The real landlord smiled broadly.
"Thank God, I am somewhat more of a man than that," for the sailor waslean and sun-dried. Then once more Mr. Bender went to the door to callthe servants in.
"Why, the man's gone," he said, and disappeared. Then they heard hisvoice again. "But he's left his groat behind him for his drink, so all'swell"; and presently his voice was heard singing as he got the tableready for the servants.
In a little more than half an hour the party and the horses were safelyon the broad bargelike ferry, and Mr. Bender was bowing on the bank andwishing them a prosperous journey, as they began to move out on to thewide river towards the chalk cliffs and red roofs of Greenhithe thatnestled among the mass of trees on the opposite bank. In less than tenminutes they were at the pier, and after a little struggle to get thehorses to land, they were mounted and riding up the straight littlestreet that led up to the higher ground. Just before they turned thecorner they heard far away across the river the horn blown to summon theferry-boat once more.
* * * *
There were two routes from Greenhithe to Stanstead, the one to the rightthrough Longfield and Ash, the other to the left through Southfleet andNursted. There was very little to choose between them as regardsdistance, and Mrs. Kirke had drawn a careful sketch-map with a few notesas to the characteristics of each route. There were besides, particularlythrough the thick woods about Stanstead itself, innumerable cross-pathsintersecting one another in all directions. The travellers had decided atthe inn to take the road through Longfield; since, in spite of otherdisadvantages, it was the less frequented of the two, and they wereanxious above all things to avoid attention. Their horses were tired; andas they had plenty of time before them they proposed to go at afoot's-pace all the way, and to take between two and three hours to coverthe nine or ten miles between Greenhithe and Stanstead.
It was a hot afternoon as they passed through Fawkham, and it wasdelightful to pass from the white road in under the thick arching treesjust beyond the village. There everything was cool shadow, the insectssang in the air about them, an early rabbit or two cantered across theroad and disappeared into the thick undergrowth; once the song of thebirds about them suddenly ceased, and through an opening in the greenrustling vault overhead they saw a cruel shape with motionless wingsglide steadily across.
They did not talk much, but let the reins lie loose; and enjoyed the coolshadow and the green lights and the fragrant mellow scents of the woodsabout them; while their horses slouched along on the turf, switchingtheir tails and even stopping sometimes for a second in a kind ofdesperate greediness to snatch a green juicy mouthful at the side.
Isabel was thinking of Stanfield, and wondering how the situation wouldadjust itself; Mary Corbet would be there, she knew, to meet them; and itwas a comfort to think she could consult her; but what, she askedherself, would be her relations with the master of the house?
Suddenly Anthony's horse stepped off the turf on the opposite side of theroad and began to come towards her, and she moved her beast a little tolet him come on the turf beside her.
"Isabel," said Anthony, "tell me if you hear anything."
She looked at him, suddenly startled.
"No, no," he said, "there is nothing to fear; it is probably my fancy;but listen and tell me."
She listened intently. There was the creaking of her own saddle, the softfootfalls of the horses, the hum of the summer woods, and the sound ofthe servants' horses behind.
"No," she said, "there is nothing beyond----"
"There!" he said suddenly; "now do you hear it?"
Then she heard plainly the sound either of a man running, or of a horsewalking, somewhere behind them.
"Yes," she said, "I hear something; but what of it?"
"It is the third time I have heard it," he said: "once in the woodsbehind Longfield, and once just before the little village with thesteepled church."
The sound had ceased again.
"It is some one who has come nearly all the way from Greenhithe behindus. Perhaps they are not following--but again----"
"They?" she said; "there is only one."
"There are three," he answered; "at least; the other two are on the turfat the side--but just before the village I heard all three of them--orrather certainly more than two--when they were between those two wallswhere there was no turf."
Isabel was staring at him with great frightened eyes. He smiled back ather tranquilly.
"Ah, Isabel!" he said, "there is nothing really to fear, in any case."
"What shall you do?" she asked, making a great effort to control herself.
"I think we must find out first of all wheth
er they are after us. We mustcertainly not ride straight to the Manor Lodge if it is so."
Then he explained his plan.
"See here," he said, holding the map before her as he rode, "we shallcome to Fawkham Green in five minutes. Then our proper road leadsstraight on to Ash, but we will take the right instead, towards Eynsford.Meanwhile, I will leave Robert here, hidden by the side of the road, tosee who these men are, and what they look like; and we will ride onslowly. When they have passed, he will come out and take the road weshould have taken, and he then will turn off to the right too before hereaches Ash; and by trotting he will easily come up with us at thiscorner," and he pointed to it on the map--"and so he will tell us whatkind of men they are; and they will never know that they have been spiedupon; for, by this plan, he will not have to pass them. Is that a goodplot?" and he smiled at her.
Isabel assented, feeling dazed and overwhelmed. She could hardly bringher thoughts to a focus, for the fears that had hovered about her eversince they had left Lancashire and come down to the treacherous south,had now darted upon her, tearing her heart with terror and blinding hereyes, and bewildering her with the beating of their wings.
Anthony quietly called up Robert, and explained the plan. He was a lad ofa Catholic family at Great Keynes, perfectly fearless and perfectlydevoted to the Church and to the priest he served. He nodded his headbriskly with approval as the plan was explained.
"Of course it may all be nothing," ended Anthony, "and then you willthink me a poor fool?"
The lad grinned cheerfully.
"No, sir," he said.
All this while they had been riding slowly on together, and now the woodshowed signs of coming to an end; so Anthony told the groom to ride fiftyyards into the undergrowth at once, to bandage his horse's eyes, and totie him to a tree; and then to creep back himself near the road, so as tosee without being seen. The men who seemed to be following were at leasthalf a mile behind, so he would have plenty of time.
Then they all rode on together again, leaving Robert to find his way intothe wood. As they went, Isabel began to question her brother, and Anthonygave her his views.
"They have not come up with us, because they know we are four men tothree--if, as I think, they are not more than three--that is one reason;and another is that they love to track us home before they take us; andthus take our hosts too as priests' harbourers. Now plainly these men donot know where we are bound, or they would not follow us so closely. Bestof all, too, they love to catch us at mass for then they have no troublein proving their case. I think then that they will not try to take ustill we reach the Manor Lodge; and we must do our best to shake them offbefore that. Now the plot I have thought of is this, that--should itprove as I think it will--we should ride slower than ever, as if ourhorses were weary, down the road along which Robert will have come afterhe has joined us, and turn down as if to go to Kingsdown, and when wehave gone half a mile, and are well round that sharp corner, double backto it, and hide all in the wood at the side. They will follow our tracks,and there are no houses at which they can ask, and there seem notravellers either on these by-roads, and when they have passed us wedouble back at the gallop, and down the next turning, which will bring usin a couple of miles to Stanstead. There is a maze of roads thereabouts,and it will be hard if we do not shake them off; for there is not ahouse, marked upon the map, at which they can ask after us."
Isabel did her utmost to understand, but the horror of the pursuit hadoverwhelmed her. The quiet woods into which they had passed again afterleaving Fawkham Green now seemed full of menace; the rough road, with thedeep powdery ruts and the grass and fir-needles at the side, no longerseemed a pleasant path leading home, but a treacherous device to leadthem deeper into danger. The creatures round them, the rabbits, thepigeons that flapped suddenly out of all the tall trees, the tits thatfluttered on and chirped and fluttered again, all seemed united againstAnthony in some dreadful league. Anthony himself felt all his powers ofobservation and device quickened and established. He had lived so long inthe expectation of a time like this, and had rehearsed and mastered theemotions of terror and suspense so often, that he was ready to meet them;and gradually his entire self-control and the unmoved tones of his voiceand his serene alert face prevailed upon Isabel; and by the time thatthey slowly turned the last curve and saw Robert on his black horsewaiting for them at the corner, her sense of terror and bewilderment hadpassed, her heart had ceased that sick thumping, and she, too, wastranquil and capable.
Robert wheeled his horse and rode beside Anthony round the sharp cornerto the left up the road along which he had trotted just now.
"There are three of them, sir," he said in an even, businesslike voice;"one of them, sir, on a brown mare, but I couldn't see aught of him, sir;he was on the far side of the track; the second is like a groom on a greyhorse, and the third is dressed like a sailor, sir, on a brown horse."
"A sailor?" said Anthony; "a lean man, and sunburnt, with a whistle?"
"I did not see the whistle, sir; but he is as you say."
This made it certain that it was the man they had seen in the innopposite Greenhithe; and also practically certain that he was a spy; fornothing that Anthony had done could have roused his suspicions except thebreaking of the bread; and that would only be known to one who was deepin the counsels of the Catholics. All this made the pursuit the moreformidable.
So Anthony meditated; and presently, calling up the servants behind,explained the situation and his plan. The French maid showed signs ofhysteria and Isabel had to take her aside and quiet her, while the menconsulted. Then it was arranged, and the servants presently droppedbehind again a few yards, though the maid still rode with Isabel. Thenthey came to the road on the right that would have led them to Kingsdown,and down this they turned. As they went, Anthony kept a good look-out fora place to turn aside; and a hundred yards from the turning saw what hewanted. On the left-hand side a little path led into the wood; it wasovergrown with brambles, and looked as if it were now disused. Anthonygave the word and turned his horse down the entrance, and was followed insingle file by the others. There were thick trees about them on everyside, and, what was far more important, the road they had left at thispoint ran higher than usual, and was hard and dry; so the horses' hoofsas they turned off left no mark that would be noticed.
After riding thirty or forty yards, Anthony stopped, turned his horseagain, and forced him through the hazels with some difficulty, and theothers again followed in silence through the passage he had made.Presently Anthony stopped; the branches that had swished their faces asthey rode through now seemed a little higher; and it was possible to sithere on horseback without any great discomfort.
"I must see them myself," he whispered to Isabel; and slipped off hishorse, giving the bridle to Robert.
"Oh! mon Dieu!" moaned the maid; "mon Dieu! Ne partez pas!"
Anthony looked at her severely.
"You must be quiet and brave," he said sternly. "You are a Catholic too;pray, instead of crying."
Then Isabel saw him slip noiselessly towards the road, which was somefifty yards away, through the thick growth.
* * * *
It was now a breathless afternoon. High overhead the sun blazed in acloudless sky, but down here all was cool, green shadow. There was not asound to be heard from the woods, beyond the mellow hum of the flies;Anthony's faint rustlings had ceased; now and then a saddle creaked, or ahorse blew out his nostrils or tossed his head. One of the men wound hishandkerchief silently round a piece of his horse's head-harness thatjingled a little. The maid drew a soft sobbing breath now and then, butshe dared not speak after the priest's rebuke.
Then suddenly there came another sound to Isabel's ears; she could notdistinguish at first what it was, but it grew nearer, and presentlyresolved itself into the fumbling noise of several horses' feet walkingtogether, twice or three times a stirrup chinked, once she heard amuffled cough; but no word was spoken. Nearer and
nearer it came, untilshe could not believe that it was not within five yards of her. Her heartbegan again that sick thumping; a fly that she had brushed away again andagain now crawled unheeded over her face, and even on her white partedlips; but a sob of fear from the maid recalled her, and she turned asharp look of warning on her. Then the fumbling noise began to die away:the men were passing. There was something in their silence that was moreterrible than all else; it reminded her of hounds running on a hot scent.
Then at last there was silence; then gentle rustlings again over lastyear's leaves; and Anthony came back through the hazels. He nodded at hersharply.
"Now, quickly," he said, and took his horse by the bridle and began tolead him out again the way they had come. At the entrance he looked outfirst; the road was empty and silent. Then he led his horse clear, andmounted as the others came out one by one in single file.
"Now follow close; and watch my hand," he said; and he put his horse to aquick walk on the soft wayside turf. As the distance widened between themand the men who were now riding away from them, the walk became a trot,and then quickly a canter, as the danger of the sound being carried totheir pursuers decreased.
It seemed to Isabel like some breathless dream as she followed Anthony'sback, watching the motions of his hand as he signed in which direction hewas going to turn next. What was happening, she half wondered to herself,that she should be riding like this on a spent horse, as if in somedreadful game, turning abruptly down lanes and rides, out across the highroad, and down again another turn, with the breathing and creaking andjingling of others behind her? Years ago the two had playedFollow-my-leader on horseback in the woods above Great Keynes. Sheremembered this now; and a flood of memories poured across her mind anddiluted the bitterness of this shocking reality. Dear God, what a game!
Anthony steered with skill and decision. He had been studying the mapwith great attention, and even now carried it loose in his hand andglanced at it from time to time. Above all else he wished to avoidpassing a house, for fear that the searchers might afterwards inquire atit; and he succeeded perfectly in this, though once or twice he wasobliged to retrace his steps. There was little danger, he knew now, ofthe noise of the horses' feet being any guide to those who weresearching, for the high table-land on which they rode was a labyrinth oflanes and rides, and the trees too served to echo and confuse the noisethey could not altogether avoid making. Twice they passed travellers, onea farmer on an old grey horse, who stared at this strange hurrying party;and once a pedlar, laden with his pack, who trudged past, head down.
Isabel's horse was beginning to strain and pant, and she herself to growgiddy with heat and weariness, when she saw through the trees an oldfarmhouse with latticed windows and a great external chimney, standing ina square of cultivated ground; and in a moment more the path they werefollowing turned a corner, and the party drew up at the back of thehouse.
At the noise of the horses' footsteps a door at the back had opened, anda woman's face looked out and drew back again; and presently from thefront Mrs. Kirke came quickly round. She was tall and slender andmiddle-aged, with a somewhat anxious face; but a look of great reliefcame over it as she saw Anthony.
"Thank God you are come," she said; "I feared something had happened."
Anthony explained the circumstances in a few words.
"I will ride on gladly, madam, if you think right; but I will ask you inany case to take my sister in."
"Why, how can you say that?" she said; "I am a Catholic. Come in, father.But I fear there is but poor accommodation for the servants."
"And the horses?" asked Anthony.
"The barn at the back is got ready for them," she said; "perhaps it wouldbe well to take them there at once." She called a woman, and sent her toshow the men where to stable the horses, while Anthony and Isabel and themaid dismounted and came in with her to the house.
There, they talked over the situation and what was best to be done. Herhusband had ridden over to Wrotham, and she expected him back for supper;nothing then could be finally settled till he came. In the meantime theManor Lodge was probably the safest place in all the woods, Mrs. Kirkedeclared; the nearest house was half a mile away, and that was theRectory; and the Rector himself was a personal friend and favourable toCatholics. The Manor Lodge, too, stood well off the road to Wrotham, andnot five strangers appeared there in the year. Fifty men might hunt thewoods for a month and not find it; in fact, Mr. Kirke had taken the houseon account of its privacy, for he was weary, his wife said, of paying herfines for recusancy; and still more unwilling to pay his own, when thathappy necessity should arrive; for he had now practically made up hismind to be a Catholic, and only needed a little instruction before beingreceived.
"He is a good man, father," she said to Anthony, "and will make a goodCatholic."
Then she explained about the accommodation. Isabel and the maid wouldhave to sleep together in the spare room, and Anthony would have thelittle dressing-room opening out of it; and the men, she feared, wouldhave to shake down as well as they could in the loft over the stable inthe barn.
At seven o'clock Mr. Kirke arrived; and when the situation had beenexplained to him, he acquiesced in the plan. He seemed confident thatthere was but little danger; and he and Anthony were soon deep intheological talk.
Anthony found him excellently instructed already; he had, in fact, evenprepared for his confession; his wife had taught him well; and it was theprospect of this one good opportunity of being reconciled to the Churchthat had precipitated matters and decided him to take the step. He was adelightful companion, too, intelligent, courageous, humorous and modest,and Anthony thought his own labour and danger well repaid when, a littleafter midnight, he heard his confession and received him into the Church.It was impossible for Mr. Kirke to receive communion, as he had wished,for there were wanting some of the necessaries for saying mass; so hepromised to ride across to Stanfield in a week or so, stay the night andcommunicate in the morning.
Then early the next morning a council was held as to the best way for theparty to leave for Stanfield. The men were called up, and their opinionsasked; and gradually step by step a plan was evolved.
The first requirement was that, if possible, the party should not berecognisable; the second that they should keep together for mutualprotection; for to separate would very possibly mean the apprehension ofsome one of them; the third was that they should avoid so far as waspossible villages and houses and frequented roads.
Then the first practical suggestion was made by Isabel that the maidshould be left behind, and that Mr. Kirke should bring her on with him toStanfield when he came a week later. This he eagerly accepted, andfurther offered to keep all the luggage they could spare, take charge ofthe men's liveries, and lend them old garments and hats of his own--toone a cloak, and to another a doublet. In this way, he said, it wouldappear to be a pleasure party rather than one of travellers, and, shouldthey be followed, this would serve to cover their traces. The travellingby unfrequented roads was more difficult; for that in itself mightattract attention should they actually meet any one.
Anthony, who had been thinking in silence a moment or two, now broke in.
"Have you any hawks, Mr. Kirke?" he asked.
"Only one old peregrine," he said, "past sport."
"She will do," said Anthony; "and can you borrow another?"
"There is a merlin at the Rectory," said Mr. Kirke.
Then Anthony explained his plan, that they should pose as ahawking-party. Isabel and Robert should each carry a hawk, while hehimself would carry on his wrist an empty leash and hood as if a hawk hadescaped; that they should then all ride together over the open country,avoiding every road, and that, if they should see any one on the way,they should inquire whether he had seen an escaped falcon or heard thetinkle of the bells; and this would enable them to ask the way, should itbe necessary, without arousing suspicion.
This plan was accepted, and the maid was informed to her great reliefthat she might r
emain behind for a week or so, and then return with Mr.Kirke after the searchers had left the woods.
It was a twenty-mile ride to Stanfield; and it was thought safer on thewhole not to remain any longer where they were, as it was impossible toknow whether a shrewd man might not, with the help of a little luck,stumble upon the house; so, when dinner was over, and the servants hadchanged into Mr. Kirke's old suits, and the merlin had been borrowed fromthe Rectory for a week's hawking, the horses were brought round and theparty mounted.
Mr. Kirke and Anthony had spent a long morning together discussing theroute, and it had been decided that it would be best to keep along thehigh ridge due west until they were a little beyond Kemsing, which theywould be able to see below them in the valley; and then to strike acrossbetween that village and Otford, and keeping almost due south ride upthrough Knole Park; then straight down on the other side into the Weald,and so past Tonbridge home.
Mr. Kirke himself insisted on accompanying them on his cob until he hadseen them clear of the woods on the high ground. Both he and his wifewere full of gratitude to Anthony for the risk and trouble he hadundergone, and did their utmost to provide them with all that wasnecessary for their disguise. At last, about two o'clock, the five menand Isabel rode out of the little yard at the back of the Manor Lodge andplunged into the woods again.
The afternoon hush rested on the country as they followed Mr. Kirke alonga narrow seldom-used path that led almost straight to the point where itwas decided that they should strike south. In half a dozen places it cutacross lanes, and once across the great high road from Farningham toWrotham. As they drew near this, Mr. Kirke, who was riding in front,checked them.
"I will go first," he said, "and see if there is danger."
In a minute he returned.
"There is a man about a hundred yards up the road asleep on a bank; andthere is a cart coming up from Wrotham: that is all I can see. Perhaps wehad better wait till the cart is gone."
"And what is the man like?" asked Anthony.
"He is a beggar, I should say; but has his hat over his eyes."
They waited till the cart had passed. Anthony dismounted and went to theentrance of the path and peered out at the man; he was lying, as Mr.Kirke had said, with his hat over his eyes, perfectly still. Anthonyexamined him a minute or two; he was in tattered clothes, and a greatstick and a bundle lay beside him.
"It is a vagabond," he said, "we can go on."
The whole party crossed the road, pushing on towards the edge of the highdowns over Kemsing; and presently came to the Ightam road where it beganto run steeply down hill; here, too, Mr. Kirke looked this way and that,but no one was in sight, and then the whole party crossed; they keptinside the edge of the wood all the way along the downs for another mileor so, with the rich sunlit valley seen in glimpses through the treeshere and there, and the Pilgrim's Way lying like a white ribbon a coupleof hundred feet below them, until at last Kemsing Church, with St.Edith's Chantry at the side, lay below and behind them, and they came outon to the edge of a great scoop in the hill, like a theatre, and the bluewoods and hills of Surrey showed opposite beyond Otford and Brasted.
Here they stopped, a little back from the edge, and Mr. Kirke gave themtheir last instructions, pointing out Seal across the valley, which theymust leave on their left, skirting the meadows to the west of the church,and passing up towards Knole beyond.
"Let the sun be a little on your right," he said, "all the way; and youwill strike the country above Tonbridge."
Then they said good-bye to one another; Mr. Kirke kissed the priest'shand in gratitude for what he had done for him, and then turned backalong the edge of the downs, riding this time outside the woods, whilethe party led their horses carefully down the steep slope, across thePilgrim's Way, and then struck straight out over the meadows to Seal.
Their plan seemed supremely successful; they met a few countrymen andlads at their work, who looked a little astonished at first at this greatparty riding across country, but more satisfied when Anthony had inquiredof them whether they had seen a falcon or heard his bells. No, they hadnot, they said; and went on with their curiosity satisfied. Once, as theywere passing down through a wood on to the Weald, Isabel, who had turnedin her saddle, and was looking back, gave a low cry of alarm.
"Ah! the man, the man!" she said.
The others turned quickly, but there was nothing to be seen but the longstraight ride stretching up to against the sky-line three or four hundredyards behind them. Isabel said she thought she saw a rider pass acrossthis little opening at the end, framed in leaves; but there were stagseverywhere in the woods here, and it would have been easy to mistake onefor the other at that distance, and with such a momentary glance.
Once again, nearer Tonbridge, they had a fright. They had followed up agrass ride into a copse, thinking it would bring them out somewhere, butit led only to the brink of a deep little stream, where the plank bridgehad been removed, so they were obliged to retrace their steps. As theyre-emerged into the field from the copse, a large heavily-built man on abrown mare almost rode into them. He was out of breath, and his horseseemed distressed. Anthony, as usual, immediately asked if he had seen orheard anything of a falcon.
"No, indeed, gentlemen," he said, "and have you seen aught of a bitch whobolted after a hare some half mile back. A greyhound I should be loath tolose."
They had not, and said so; and the man, still panting and mopping hishead, thanked them, and asked whether he could be of any service indirecting them, if they were strange to the country; but they thought itbetter not to give him any hint of where they were going, so he rode offpresently up the slope across their route and disappeared, whistling forhis dog.
And so at last, about four o'clock in the afternoon, they saw the churchspire of Stanfield above them on the hill, and knew that they were nearthe end of their troubles. Another hundred yards, and there were theroofs of the old house, and the great iron gates, and the vanes of thegarden-house seen over the clipped limes; and then Mary Corbet and Mr.Buxton hurrying in from the garden, as they came through the low oakdoor, into the dear tapestried hall.