He had ridden slowly as he went; but he returned at a gallop, though the rapid motion did not tend to calm his feelings. The farm-house where he had slept was vacant of its guests. Richard Newark, his servant, and all the Keanton men were gone; but they had left word that, if Smeaton returned and sought them, he would find them at a place called the Waterfalls. The Earl ordered the baggage-horse to be prepared directly, and, in the mean time, applied to the farmer for directions on the way after his party.
"I'll guide you, sir," replied the man. "There is something going on that I have an itching to have a hand in, and I think I'll pay some of the Newcastle keel-men for throwing me into the Tyne, in one of their brute frolics."
Smeaton gladly accepted his guidance, and, in about half an hour, they set out; the Earl riding a little in advance, and alone, while the stout farmer jogged on, conversing with the servant, Higham. They took their way through a more cultivated part of the country than that which Smeaton had passed in the morning; but they soon turned toward the hills again, and the farmer pointed out a piece of ground on the right, saying:
"That is Plainfield, my Lord."
Smeaton, however, was busy with his own thoughts, and made no inquiry, not knowing anything which should make Plainfield remarkable.[[1]] A few minutes afterwards, they began to ascend a somewhat steep hill, riding over the green turf; and, as they wound round it to lessen the sharpness of the ascent, the young nobleman caught sight of a small party of horse gathered together at the distance of about a mile. "There are our friends, I think," he said.
"Ay, my lord, I dare say they are," replied the farmer.
The words seemed insignificant enough; but they were spoken in a significant tone, and the servant, Tom Higham, gave a low laugh.
A rise in the ground, in another moment, hid the party they had seen; and, spurring quickly on, Smeaton soon came to the top of the height, whence a view of the country could be commanded for several miles. The prospect was very picturesque. The brown hill-side descended somewhat abruptly towards the more even country below, and was channelled by a sort of glen or ravine, through which leaped and tumbled a small mountain stream, fringed here and there with low trees and shrubs, but ever and anon glancing out under the eye, and catching the sunlight on its foam and spray.
Half way between the top of the hill and the head of this ravine was gathered together a party of men on horseback; not more than, if so many as, very frequently assembled on the most innocent occasions. In ordinary times, one would naturally have supposed that the little meeting consisted of a hunting party, or perhaps two or three dozen of gentlemen assembled to run their greyhounds. Besides those in this central situation, two or three small groups of horsemen were seen coming up from below at different degrees of speed, according to the steepness of the ascent; but still the whole number together might very well have formed a sporting party, only no dogs were to be seen. In the midst of the principal group, Smeaton's eye instantly picked out Richard Newark, who was mounted on a tall and remarkable white horse; and, riding quickly down towards him, he was soon by his side. The Keanton farmers, who were there assembled, greeted the approach of their young lord with a sort of half cheer, and one of them exclaimed aloud--"God bless your lordship! I thought you would not abandon us in time of need."
"What news from Lord Stair?" asked Richard, in a whisper.