"I wouldn't live inland if you paid me to," said Adrian firmly.
"'And so say all of us'," quoted Crow in an ardent whisper.
Then they were silent--looking out.
Twenty to twenty-five minutes after that, they drew into the little moorland station, high, fresh, and lonely, under the moon. There were still clouds about, which made the shadows more eerie. It was all beautiful and mysterious as only the far west country can be. The brother and sister heartily agreed that the whole day had been well worth living.
"I'm not sure this isn't best of all," said Crow.
Adrian was planning arrangements for fetching the yawl, and they covered the long stretch of white road in quick time; no walking is so delightful as that in moonlight, with all the world to oneself. Owls hooted from the trees, and in a distant copse a nightingale suddenly began his song--more perfect for the space and loneliness.
The Romilly pair became silent. Conversation seemed almost irreverent.
They were approaching the Folly Ho turn. Suddenly into the quiet broke a monotonous light sound--the tapping of feet on hard ground; someone was running at an even pace.
"We're not the only people alive to-night," said Christobel in a low voice, "I thought we were."
"Coming from Peterock way," Adrian said, "we shall see who it is in a jiff; they are bound to come in front of us, unless they jump the hedge into the field. Sounds like a girl running."