On reaching the bottom of the hill, we turned off and rode a mile or so, when I saw a shed in a very lonely spot on a hill side. I slipped the saddles off and led the horses through a couple of fields and shut them into the barn.
“No one is likely to be there till to-morrow, so we may get them again this afternoon if necessary,” I said as I returned to Volna with the bridles. “There’s a bit of feed on the place and that’ll keep them quiet. Now we’ll hide these things in the wood yonder; and leave the rest to chance.”
I buried the saddles under a heap of brushwood, and we made our way back to the main road and soon reached the village.
“I feel disgracefully dirty,” said Volna, as one or two of the villagers eyed us curiously.
“They’ll only think we’ve come some distance to mass; and they are accustomed to the sight of dirty people about here.”
Volna laughed. “Thank you. But even here the people wash themselves on Sunday.”
“Here’s the priest’s house, next the church,” I answered irrelevantly. We walked up to it and just as we reached the door it was opened by a woman, bonnetted and prayer book in hand.
I stepped inside without shewing any hesitation; as if we were expected. “Good-morning. Is Father Ambrose in his study or already at church?”
“The Father is in church, sir. You can’t come in, please,” she replied, resenting our intrusion.
“I was afraid we should be just too late and too early,” I said lightly to Volna. “He said before ten or after half-past twelve. But we couldn’t manage it.”