"Indeed!" said Wilton. "I wish to see him very much."
"You will find him there, then," replied the other. "But he is sadly changed, poor fellow, sadly changed, indeed!"
"How so?" said Wilton. "Do you mean that he has been ill?"
"No, not exactly ill," answered Byerly, "and I don't well know what it is makes him so.—At all events, I can't stop to talk about it at present; but if you go on you will see him, and hear more about it from himself. Good night, Mr. Brown, good night: those fellows will get too far ahead of me, if I don't mind." And thus saying, he rode on.
Wilton, for his part, proceeded on his way, musing over what had occurred. It seemed to him, indeed, not a little strange, that a party of men, whose general business was hardly doubtful, should suffer him, without any knowledge of his person or any private motives for so doing, to pass them thus quietly on his way, and he was led to imagine that they must have in view some very peculiar object to account for such conduct. That object, however, was evidently considered by themselves of very great importance, and to require extraordinary precautions; for before Wilton reached the direction-post to which Byerly had referred, he passed two more horsemen, one of whom was singing as he came up, but stopped immediately on perceiving the wayfarer, and demanded in a civil tone—
"Pray, sir, did you meet some gentlemen on before?"
"Yes," replied Wilton, "I did: three, and then one."
"Did they speak to you?" demanded the other.
"Yes," replied Wilton, "they asked me some questions."
"Oh, was that all?" said the man. "Good night, sir;" and on the two rode.