"Everybody goes to London," she said. "But I will stop before I get there. I'll find a nice pretty farm, with apples in the garden, and they'll give me some breakfast."
But as time passed she began to feel hungry, and no pretty farm came in sight. The country was singularly desolate. She came upon two or three small cottages by the wayside, and an inn; but none of these seemed to her attractive enough for breakfast. At last she turned up a leafy lane.
"I must try and lose myself thoroughly, Chris," she said; "so that nobody can possibly find me and take me back. I feel quite frightened now, when I think of Aunt Diana finding me gone. How very angry she'll be!"
Childlike, she was living entirely in the present. Her future never troubled her. The lane wound about in a wonderful way, then suddenly ended. A white gate appeared and a high wall on either side of it.
"This must be a house," said Harebell to herself.
She found the gate open and rode up a neglected drive; nettles and rank grass flourished on either side of a mossy road. Overgrown shrubs and thick trees lined the way.
Her heart began to beat excitedly.
"It's like the palace grounds of the Sleeping Beauty. I wish I could have a real adventure."
The drive seemed an interminable distance to her, but at last, to her great delight, she saw a big grey house in the distance. It looked still and deserted.
When she came up to the big flight of steps leading up to the front door she persuaded herself that it was, indeed, the Sleeping Palace. Slipping off Chris, she let him turn aside to munch at the long grass on the lawn, and then mounted the steps with eager expectancy. Would the door open at her touch? Would she go in and find the remains of feasting in the great hall, and the servants all asleep at their posts?