“No hurry,” said I. “Your horse is a good one to go.”
“What the deuce are you talking about?” said he.
I rubbed my eyes and stared at him, and, lo! it was the Wreck, half-dressed and smoking a cigarette, who had waked me.
“I’ve been awake all night,” he said; “it has been too warm for sleeping. It’s five o’clock now, and a lovely morning. Better put on your things, and we’ll go out for an early morning walk.”
We dressed and let ourselves quietly out of the house.
Next the inn was the church, which was locked of course at this early hour. In the churchyard was a thing that spoke of Chideock Castle, the tomb of Thomas Daniell, who, as a brass plate informed us, was “Steward of the Manor and Lordship of Chideock, who, loyal to his king, and true to his master, gallantly defended the Castle of Chideock.” The inscription ends with the quotation from Holy Writ—
“Well done, thou good and faithful servant:
Enter thou into the joy of thy lord,”
which reads somewhat humorously, for surely never before has any one so finely confused secular loyalty with religious constancy, and never was blasphemy so unconscious as this.