“It will not be necessary,” he replied. “This pair can accomplish the journey, for the carriage is a light one. We have only another ten miles to go. An hour should see us safely arrived.”
“If I find Perry—alive, all the rest can— must —be borne!” she said. “Forgive me for being so silent a companion! I cannot talk of it.”
He pressed her hand. “I understand. When we arrive will be time enough for all that must be said.”
“Is—is Lord Worth at this place?” she asked.
“No, he is in London. You need not fear having to meet him.”
“But why has he—why is Perry kept in this place you are taking me to? If all you have said is true, how comes he to be alive? Surely—”
“You will know presently,” he said.
She said no more. The carriage was jolting along a twisting lane between high, tangled hedgerows; a scent of hay was wafted in on the warm air; occasionally she caught a glimpse of a vista of rolling fields, with a blue background of hills in the distance. As they plunged deeper into the country, and she felt herself to be within reach of Peregrine, the numbness that had been clogging her brain gave way to an impatience to arrive. She turned to her cousin, and demanded: “Are we never to reach this place? Why did you not have the horses changed half-way?”
“We are nearly there now,” he answered.
In another five minutes the weary horses had turned in through a gateway, and were going at a jog-trot up the rough cart-track that led between rank fields to a fair-sized cottage, nestling in a hollow of the ground. It was surrounded by a fenced garden, and a huddle of outhouses. A few hens were to be seen, and a pig was rootling amongst some cabbages at the back of the cottage. Judith, leaning forward to see more plainly, turned with an expression of surprise on her face. “But this is nothing but a villager’s cottage!” she exclaimed. “Is Perry kept here!”