"But you had something to tell Sir Willoughby?"
"Ay sure, but he knows it--knows it better'n me."
"Come, Dickon, what is this mystery? I am in a maze: what is it, man?"
"Binna fur a' aged poor feller like me to say. We'n better go home, sir."
Nothing that Desmond said prevailed upon Dickon to tell more, and the two started homewards across the fields. Some minutes afterwards they heard the sound of a horse's hoofs clattering on the road to their left, and going in the same direction. It was an unusual sound at that late hour, and both stopped instinctively and looked at each other.
"A late traveller, Dickon," said Desmond.
"Ay, maybe a king's post, Measter Desmond," replied the old man. Without more words they went on till they came to a lane leading to the labourer's cottage.
"We part here," said Desmond. "Dickon, good-night!"
"Good-night to you, sir!" said the old man. He paused: then in a grave, earnest, quavering voice, he added: "The Lord Almighty have you in His keeping, Measter Desmond, watch over you night and day, now and evermore."
And with that he hobbled down the lane.