They had never noticed this stile before; they had not the slightest idea where it led to, but somehow they felt more afraid now to turn back than to go on; and, indeed, it would not have been any use, for, had he cared to do so, the man could have overtaken them in a moment.  The stile was hard for their short legs to climb, but they had a great dislike to the idea of his touching them, and would not ask for help.  And once he had got them on the other side of it he seemed to feel he had them in his power, and did not take much notice of them, but strode on through the rough brushwood—­for they were by this time in a sort of little coppice—­as if he cared for nothing but to get over the ground as fast as possible.  And still the two followed him—­through the coppice, across one or two ploughed fields, down a bit of lane where they had never been before, plunging at last into a wood where the trees grew thick and dark—­a forest of gloom it seemed to Duke and Pamela—­and all this time they never met a creature, or passed any little cottage such as they were accustomed to see on the cheerful Sandlingham road.  The pedlar knew the country, and had chosen the least frequented way.  Had they by any chance met a carriage or cart, even when crossing the high road, he would not have dared to risk being seen with the children, but in that case he would no doubt have hurried off, leaving them to find their way home as best they might.  But no such good fortune having befallen them, on they trotted—­hand-in-hand for the most part, though by this time several stumbles had scratched and bruised them, and their flying hair, flushed faces and tumbled clothes made them look very different from the little “master and missy” Biddy had sent out into the peaceful garden to play that sweet April afternoon.

Why they went on, they could not themselves have told.  Often in after years, and when they had grown older and wiser, they asked themselves the question.  It was not exactly fear, for as yet the man had not actually spoken roughly to them, nor was it altogether a feeling of shame at giving in—­it was a mixture of both perhaps, and some strange sort of fascination that even very wise people might not find it easy to explain.  For every time their steps lagged, and they felt as if they could go no farther, a glance over his shoulder of the man in front seemed to force them on again.  And as the wood grew closer and darker this feeling increased.  They felt as if they were miles and miles from home, in some strange and distant country they had never before seen or heard of; they seemed to be going on and on, as in a dream.  And though poor little Pamela still, through all her stumbles and tumbles, held tightly up before her the corners of her apron, containing the bits of the unlucky bowl, and Duke, on his side, still firmly clutched his precious money-box, I do not believe either of them had by this time any very clear remembrance of why they were laden with these queer burdens, or what was the object of the strange and painful expedition.