It was torture to Edward to stay; but he paused for a moment, and then said, "I fear I must go on, for I have still some distance to ride. My road, too, lies here to the left."
"Ay?" said Soubise; "so does mine. Let us go on."
"Are you sure you are right?" asked Edward Langdale. "Huntingdon is straight before you."
"Oh, I am right," answered the prince: "I turn just beyond Buckley."
Edward had nothing more to say; but he could not help beginning to think that his adventure with the two blacksmiths seemed likely to come over again. Somewhat quickening their pace, they rode on, and Edward made an effort to cast off the melancholy mood which had fallen upon him, and even the impression which the unsought society of a man who had spoken of him in such insulting terms had produced at first, and the conversation between him and Soubise became lively and cheerful. Mile after mile passed; and at length, after proceeding for more than an hour and a half, on a little bank by the side of the river appeared an old church with its gray ivy-clad tower and groups of yews in the churchyard. Beyond, at the distance of some two or three hundred yards, was one of those fine antique houses, built of stone, which were erected in the end of Elizabeth's reign and in the earlier part of that of the most pompous and conceited of kings. Thick walls, small square windows, little useless towers, and somewhat peaked roofs, spoke a good deal of King James. But the lawn, as soft as velvet, the groups of shrubs, and the garden, well trimmed and swept even in the winter-time, told a tale of more modern taste.
"I fear I shall have to quit you here, sir," said Edward, as they approached the gate with its two massy stone pillars and large balls at the top. "This is the end of my journey."
"What is the name of this place?" asked Soubise.
"Applethorpe," answered Edward,—"the residence of Dr. Winthorne."
"Ha?" said Soubise; "then we shall not part so soon. This is the end of my journey also."