In this mood he paced, without minding in what direction he went, under those great rows of timber which over-arch the pathway leading toward Redman's Dell—the path that he and Mark Wylder had trod in that misty moonlight walk on which I had seen them set out together.
Before he had walked five minutes in this direction, he was encountered by a little girl in a cloak, who stopped and dropped a courtesy. The captain stopped also, and looked at her with a stare which, I suppose, had something forbidding in it, for the child was frightened. But the wild and menacing look was unconscious, and only the reflection of the dark speculations and passions which were tumbling and breaking in his soul.
'Well, child,' said he, gently, 'I think I know your face, but I forget your name.'
'Little Margery, please Sir, from Miss Lake at Redman's Farm,' she replied with a courtesy.
'Oh! to be sure, yes. And how is Miss Rachel?'
'Very bad with a headache, please, Sir.'
'Is she at home?'
'Yes, Sir, please.'
'Any message?'
'Yes, Sir, please—a note for you, Sir;' and she produced a note, rather, indeed, a letter.