“Very well, then, that is arranged. And it is you, moreover, who must steal the stable keys. That will not be a great matter. And you will pack for me two bandboxes, but not any more, because I cannot carry much on horseback. And when I reach Hand Cross I shall let Rufus go, and it is certain that he will find his way home, and that will put my cousin Tristram in a terrible fright when he sees my horse quite riderless. I dare say he will think I am dead.”
“Miss, you don’t really mean it?” said Lucy, who had been listening open-mouthed.
“But of course I mean it,” replied Eustacie calmly. “When does the night mail reach Hand Cross?”
“Just before midnight, miss, but they do say we shall be having snow, and that would make the mail late as like as not. But, miss, it’s all of five miles to Hand Cross, and the road that lonely, and running through the Forest—oh, I’d be afeard!”
“I am not afraid of anything,” said Eustacie loftily.
Lucy sank her voice impressively. “Perhaps you haven’t ever heard tell of the Headless Horseman, miss?”
“No!” Eustacie’s eyes sparkled. “Tell me at once all about him!”
“They say he rides the Forest, miss, but never on a horse of his own,” said Lucy throbbingly. “You’ll find him up behind you on the crupper with his arms round your waist.”
Even in the comfortable daylight this story was hideous enough to daunt the most fearless. Eustacie shuddered, but said stoutly: “I do not believe it. It is just a tale!”
“Ask anyone, miss, if it’s not true!” said Lucy.