We drank tea out of the white-and-gold cups that had been best ever since I could remember, and then she kissed me and bade me be going lest the darkness should overtake me.
I laughed, and declared that the long twilight would more than last me home; for I did not want to be going until I was sure that Mr. Harrod was on my road; the vague hope that I had had of meeting him had grown into a settled determination to wait for him if I could. But the old lady would not be pacified by any assurances that I was not afraid of darkness; and to be sure there was a strange shade in the air as I got outside and mounted the black horse again.
When I got beyond the village again I saw what it was—there was a sea-fog creeping up the plain. Such fogs were common enough in the hot weather, and gave me no concern at all; but I saw with some dismay that the sun must have set some time, for the twilight was falling in the clear space that still existed above the mist.
I looked back upon the road. Surely he could not have passed. I could not bear to give up the hope of this ride home with him, and yet I scarcely dared loiter lest mother should grow anxious. I put the beast to a gentle trot and rode forward slowly. I knew of no other way that Harrod could have taken, and I felt sure that he had not passed that cottage without my knowledge.
But the mist thickened. I could not see before me or behind; it was not until I was close upon it that I could tell where the path branched off that led across the meadows to the town. It did not strike me at the time that I was foolish to take it; I only wondered whether Harrod would be sure to come that way. I only thought of whether I should recognize the sound of the mare's trot, for that was the only means by which I could be sure of his approach before he was close upon me.
I rode on slowly, listening always. I rode on for what seemed to me to be a very long time. The mist was chill after the hot day, and I had no covering but my old, thin, blue serge habit, which had seen many a long day's wear.
The fog gathered in thickness, and darkened with the darkness of the coming night. I began to think that, after all, I had made a mistake in taking the short-cut. Perhaps Mr. Harrod had kept to the high-road, as safer on such a night; perhaps thus I should miss him. I was not at all afraid of the fog, but I was very much afraid of missing the companion for whose sake I had come this long ride on a hot day. And with the fear in my mind that I might miss him, I did a very foolish thing—I turned back upon my steps. I put the horse to a canter, and turned back to regain the high-road. I rode as fast as I could now, urging the beast forward; but though I rode for a much longer distance than I had ridden already since I left Mrs. Winter's cottage, I saw no trace of the road.
I stood still at last and tried to determine where I was. My heart was beating a little. Presently—through the stillness, for the air was absolutely lifeless—I heard the sound of voices. I listened eagerly. But, alas! there was no sound of horse's hoofs: the wayfarers, whoever they were, were on their feet. Mr. Harrod could scarcely be one of them. I stopped, waiting for them to come up. They were tramps. Their figures looked wavering and uncertain as they came towards me through the mist. They walked with a heavy lounging gait, smoking their clay pipes.
"Can you tell me if I'm in the right way for the high-road?" said I, as they came within ear-shot.
They stopped, and one of them burst into a laugh and said something afterwards in an undertone to his companion.