It was a poor consolation, but the only one. So I made the best of it, and, taking my supper in the kitchen, went forthwith to bed. I was indeed so spent and tired that I fell asleep in the corner by the fire while my ham was being fried, and after it, was almost carried upstairs in the arms of my landlord. I had not lain in a bed since I left Leyden, and few sights, I think, have ever affected me with so pleasant a sense of rest and comfort as that of the little inn-chamber, with its white dimity curtains and lavender-scented sheets. I have, in truth, always loved the scent of lavender since.
The next morning I was early afoot, and, despatching a hasty breakfast, made my way to the stables. The innkeeper had preceded me in order to have all ready for my start; but he stood in the yard with the horse unsaddled.
"'Tis no use, sir," he said. "You must e'en walk to Hungerford."
I had but to see the horse take one step to realise the truth of his words, for it limped yet worse than the evening before. The foot, moreover, was exceeding hot and inflamed.
"Take it back," said I. "The poor beast must bide here till I return."
I followed him into the stable, and inquired of the road.
"You go straight," he said, "till you come to Barton Court, opposite the village of Kintbury--" when of a sudden I stopped him. There were but two stalls in the building, and I had just caught a glimpse of the horse which was tied up in the second. It was of a light chestnut in colour, with white stockings, and a fleck of white in its coat at the joint of the hip. The patch was like a star in shape, and very unusual.
"Why, this is Sir Julian Harnwood's horse," I cried, leaping towards it--"his favourite horse!"
"Yes," he said, looking at me with some surprise, "that was the name--Sir Julian Harnwood. 'Tis the horse I told you of last night."
And in a flash the truth came upon me.