Half-a-mile away there was a town perched upon the side of a hill.
“I will get refreshments there,” he thought, “and then hasten back. Theresa will wonder what has become of me.”
He went into the town, and pulled his hat over his eyes like a man who has committed some crime. The people whom he met stared curiously after him. His was no common, everyday figure.
At last he turned into a public house, and, walking into a little parlor, the door of which was held invitingly open by a trim-looking maid, he called for a glass of ale and some biscuits.
“This is Farnwell, is it not?” he presently inquired.
“Yes, sir,” replied the girl.
He was about to express his astonishment at the number of alterations that had taken place in an amazingly short space of time, when he remembered his accident.
“I have not been here for a long time,” he explained, “and everything seems quite strange. Who is the landlord now?”
“Mr. Fletcher, sir.”
“Fletcher? Oh, I do not remember him. I suppose that the house has recently changed hands?”