This puzzled him, as we have said, not a little.  Sir John Fenwick was a gentleman of good repute, whom he had heard of before now.  He had married the Lady Mary Howard, daughter of the Earl of Carlisle, and, though a stanch Jacobite, it was supposed, he was nevertheless looked upon as a man of undoubted probity and honour.  What could have been his business, then, with thieves, or at best with the companions of thieves?  This was a question which Wilton could no ways solve; and after having teased himself for some time therewith, he at length descended to the little parlour of the inn, and ordered his horse to be brought round as speedily as possible.  He felt in his own bosom, indeed, some inclination to wait for an hour or two, in order to take leave of the Duke and his fair daughter; but remembering his own situation with the Earl, as well as feeling some of his gloomy sensations of the day before returning upon him, he determined to set out without loss of time.  He mounted accordingly, and took his way towards London at a quick pace, in order to arrive before the Earl’s breakfast hour.

There are, however, in that part of the country, manifold hills, over which none but a very inhumane man, unless he were pursued by enemies, or pursuing a fox, would urge his horse at a rapid rate; and as Wilton Brown was slowly climbing one of the first of these, he was overtaken by another horseman, who turned out to be none other than the worthy gentleman in the green coat.

“Good morrow to you, Master Wilton Brown,” said the stranger, pulling up his horse as soon as he had reached him:  “we are riding along the same road, I find, and may as well keep companionship as we go.  These are sad times, and the roads are dangerous.”

“They are, indeed, my good sir,” replied Wilton, who was, in general, not without that capability of putting down intrusion at a word, which, strangely enough, is sometimes a talent of the lowest and meanest order of frivolous intellects, but is almost always found in the firm and decided—­“they are, indeed, if I may judge by what you and I saw last night.”

The stranger did not move a muscle, but answered, quite coolly, “Ay, sad doings though, sad doings:  you knocked that fellow down smartly—­a neat blow, as I should wish to see:  I thought you would have shot one of them, for my part.”

“It is a pity you had not been beforehand with me,” answered Wilton:  “you seemed to have been some time enjoying the sport when we came up.”

The stranger now laughed aloud.  “No, no,” he said, “that would not do; I could not interfere; I am not conservator of the King’s Highway; and, for my part, it should always be open for gentlemen to act as they liked, though I would not take any share in the matter for the world.”

“There is such a thing,” replied Wilton, not liking his companion at all—­“there is such a thing as taking no share in the risk, and a share in the profit.”