“Yes, I dare say; and there is a road that turns off to the left, just under that old mill?”
“That’ll be the road to Church Carwell.”
“You must drive about three miles along that road.”
“That’ll be out o’ the way, ma’am—three, and three back—six miles—I don’t know about the hosses.”
“You must try, I’ll pay you—listen,” and she lowered her voice. “There’s one house—an old house—on the way, in the Vale of Carwell; it is called Carwell Grange—do you know it?”
“Yes’m; but there’s no one livin’ there.”
“No matter—there is; there is an old woman whom I want to see; that’s where I want to go, and you must manage it, I shan’t delay you many minutes, and you’re to tell no one, either on the way or when you get home, and I’ll give you two pounds for yourself.”
“All right,” he answered, looking hard in the pale face and large dark eyes that gazed on him eagerly from the window. “Thank’ye, Miss, all right, we’ll wet their mouths at the Grange, or you wouldn’t mind waiting till they get a mouthful of oats, I dessay?”
“No, certainly; anything that is necessary, only I have a good way still to go before evening, and you won’t delay more than you can help?”
“Get along, then,” said the man, briskly to his horses, and forthwith they were again in motion.