"Come, Roger Trevanion," he said presently, "yet there is room."
"The horses?" I queried.
"Ah yes," he said, quickly coming to me. "I can make no provision for them."
I gave a gesture of impatience.
"You have a story to tell me, Roger Trevanion," he said, "and it is well it should be told quickly. But there is plenty of grass on the moors, and your horse obeys you like a Christian. Take off the saddle, and tell it to go yonder out of sight, and the other will follow."
I was not long in doing his bidding. I pulled off the head-gearing and saddles from both the animals, and then I told Chestnut what I wanted him to do. I am sure he understood me perfectly, for he trotted some distance across the moors, the other nag following as Uncle Anthony had said.
"There be many horses grazing on these moors," said the old man, as though he divined the thoughts in my mind, "so yours will attract no notice."
I looked around me again, and then up at the vast mass of bluish schorl rock on which the lonely chapel was built.
"A wise man doth mount the high rock, and rest in peace," he said, repeating the very words he had used when I had seen him at Endellion, only now he spoke like a man of learning and not in the Cornish vernacular as he had spoken then. "Happy are they who in trouble seek the shelter of the wise man's high place."
"I remember," I replied, "that is why I came."