The next morning Tyrrel rose with the sun. He had passed a restless night, and now sought refreshment in the early breeze. With this purpose he descended to the river, and strayed along the dewy pathway which crept through the shrubbery on the right bank in the direction of the Fawn's Tower. He had not wandered far before he perceived a horseman moving along the road upon the opposite side.
"Halloo, James Curry!—which way?—What news have you?"
"I seek you, sir, I was on my way to the Dove Cote," replied the horseman, who at the same time turned his horse's head to the river, and, spurring the animal forward, plunged into the stream which was here still and deep enough to reach above his saddle flaps. After some floundering, the horse and rider gained the margin, where Tyrrel awaited them! The vigor of the animal, as well as the practised hand that held the rein, was shown in the boldness of the attempt to climb the steep bank and break through the briers and bushes that here guarded it. As soon as Curry reached the level ground, he dismounted.
"In God's name, man, what is the matter with your face?" asked Tyrrel.
"It is of that, amongst other things, that I came to speak to you," was the reply; "I have news for you."
"Speak, without prelude. Tell me."
"Major Butler slept last night at Mrs. Dimock's."
"And is there still?"
"No, sir. He started at early dawn this morning."
"To join Gates?"