“Then you learned to ride well, Frank. Find the advantage of having your boots, though. Fancy a ride like this in silk stockings and shoes!—You ought to go into the cavalry some day.”
Frank sighed.
“Bah! Don’t look at the future as being all black, boy. Stick to Hope, the lady who carries the anchor. One never knows what may turn up.”
“No, one never knows what may turn up,” cried the boy excitedly; and then he checked himself in dread lest his companion should read his thoughts respecting the rescue. But the captain’s next words set him at rest.
“That’s right, my lad. Try and keep a stout heart. Steep hill this. Do you know where we are?”
“Only that we are on the great north road.”
“Yes. When we are on the top of this hill, we shall be in the village of Highgate; and if it was daylight, we could see all London if we looked back, and the country right away if we looked forward. I propose to stop at the top of the hill and wait.”
“Yes,” said Frank eagerly.
“Perhaps go on for a quarter of a mile, so as to be where we are not observed.”
The horses were kept at a walking pace till the village was reached, and here a gate was stretched across, and a man came out to take the toll, Frank noticing that he examined them keenly by the light of a lanthorn.