‘Why,’ shouts the vicar, after a survey of the landscape, ‘if I can see a church by daylight, that’s Blakeney steeple; and we are only three miles from where we started.’
Sure enough it was so. There was nothing for it but to stop at the nearest house, give the horses a rest and a feed, and make a fresh start,—better informed as to our topography.
It was past four on that summer afternoon when we reached our destination. The plan of campaign was cut and dried. I called for writing materials, and indicted my epistle as agreed upon.
‘To whom are you telling her to address the answer?’ asked my accomplice. ‘We’re incog. you know. It won’t do for either of us to be known.’
‘Certainly not,’ said I. ‘What shall it be? White? Black? Brown? or Green?’
‘Try Browne with an E,’ said he. ‘The E gives an aristocratic flavour. We can’t afford to risk our respectability.’
The note sealed, I rang the bell for the landlord, desired him to send it up to the hall and tell the messenger to wait for an answer.
As our host was leaving the room he turned round, with his hand on the door, and said:
‘Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Cook, would you and Mr. Napeer please to take dinner here? I’ve soom beatiful lamb chops, and you could have a ducklin’ and some nice young peas to your second course. The post-boy says the ’osses is pretty nigh done up; but by the time—’
‘How did you know our names?’ asked my companion.