‘So am I,’ returned Mountclere.

‘I know a wheelwright in Flychett,’ continued Sol, ’and he keeps a beer-house, and owns two horses.  We could hire them, and have a bit of sommat in the shape of victuals, and then get on to Anglebury.  Perhaps the rain may hold up by that time.  Anything’s better than going out of our way.’

‘Yes.  And the horses can last out to that place,’ said Mountclere.  ’Up and on again, my man.’

On they went towards Flychett.  Still the everlasting heath, the black hills bulging against the sky, the barrows upon their round summits like warts on a swarthy skin.  The storm blew huskily over bushes of heather and furze that it was unable materially to disturb, and the travellers proceeded as before.  But the horses were now far from fresh, and the time spent in reaching the next village was quite half as long as that taken up by the previous heavy portion of the drive.  When they entered Flychett it was about three.

‘Now, where’s the inn?’ said Mountclere, yawning.

‘Just on the knap,’ Sol answered. ’’Tis a little small place, and we must do as well as we can.’

They pulled up before a cottage, upon the whitewashed front of which could be seen a square board representing the sign.  After an infinite labour of rapping and shouting, a casement opened overhead, and a woman’s voice inquired what was the matter.  Sol explained, when she told them that the horses were away from home.

‘Now we must wait till these are rested,’ growled Mountclere.  ’A pretty muddle!’

‘It cannot be helped,’ answered Sol; and he asked the woman to open the door.  She replied that her husband was away with the horses and van, and that they could not come in.

Sol was known to her, and he mentioned his name; but the woman only began to abuse him.

‘Come, publican, you’d better let us in, or we’ll have the law for’t,’ rejoined Sol, with more spirit.  ’You don’t dare to keep nobility waiting like this.’

‘Nobility!’

’My mate hev the title of Honourable, whether or no; so let’s have none of your slack,’ said Sol.

‘Don’t be a fool, young chopstick,’ exclaimed Mountclere.  ’Get the door opened.’

‘I will—­in my own way,’ said Sol testily.  ’You mustn’t mind my trading upon your quality, as ’tis a case of necessity.  This is a woman nothing will bring to reason but an appeal to the higher powers.  If every man of title was as useful as you are to-night, sir, I’d never call them lumber again as long as I live.’

‘How singular!’

’There’s never a bit of rubbish that won’t come in use if you keep it seven years.’

’If my utility depends upon keeping you company, may I go to h—–­ for lacking every atom of the virtue.’

’Hear, hear!  But it hardly is becoming in me to answer up to a man so much older than I, or I could say more.  Suppose we draw a line here for the present, sir, and get indoors?’