‘O no—­not at all.  Put him over at that table.’

‘And I’ll join him.  You can sit here by yourself, sir.’

The meal was despatched, and the coachman again retired, promising to have the horses ready in about an hour and a half.  Sol and Mountclere made themselves comfortable upon either side of the fireplace, since there was no remedy for the delay:  after sitting in silence awhile, they nodded and slept.

How long they would have remained thus, in consequence of their fatigues, there is no telling, had not the mistress of the cottage descended the stairs about two hours later, after peeping down upon them at intervals of five minutes during their sleep, lest they should leave without her knowledge.  It was six o’clock, and Sol went out for the man, whom he found snoring in the hay-loft.  There was now real necessity for haste, and in ten minutes they were again on their way.

* * * * *

Day dawned upon the ‘Red Lion’ inn at Anglebury with a timid and watery eye.  From the shadowy archway came a shining lantern, which was seen to be dangling from the hand of a little bow-legged old man—­the hostler, John.  Having reached the front, he looked around to measure the daylight, opened the lantern, and extinguished it by a pinch of his fingers.  He paused for a moment to have the customary word or two with his neighbour the milkman, who usually appeared at this point at this time.

‘It sounds like the whistle of the morning train,’ the milkman said as he drew near, a scream from the further end of the town reaching their ears.  ’Well, I hope, now the wind’s in that quarter, we shall ha’e a little more fine weather—­hey, hostler?’

‘What be ye a talking o’?’

‘Can hear the whistle plain, I say.’

’O ay.  I suppose you do.  But faith, ’tis a poor fist I can make at hearing anything.  There, I could have told all the same that the wind was in the east, even if I had not seed poor Thomas Tribble’s smoke blowing across the little orchard.  Joints be a true weathercock enough when past three-score.  These easterly rains, when they do come, which is not often, come wi’ might enough to squail a man into his grave.’

’Well, we must look for it, hostler. . . .  Why, what mighty ekkypage is this, come to town at such a purblinking time of day?’

’’Tis what time only can tell—­though ‘twill not be long first,’ the hostler replied, as the driver of the pair of horses and carriage containing Sol and Mountclere slackened pace, and drew rein before the inn.

Fresh horses were immediately called for, and while they were being put in the two travellers walked up and down.

‘It is now a quarter to seven o’clock,’ said Mountclere; ’and the question arises, shall I go on to Knollsea, or branch off at Corvsgate Castle for Enckworth?  I think the best plan will be to drive first to Enckworth, set me down, and then get him to take you on at once to Knollsea.  What do you say?’