'I'll stay here—that is, in the drawing-room,' she answered, and the face was withdrawn.
In the little hall Stanley looked again at his watch, and getting quietly out, went swiftly through the tiny garden, and once upon the mill-road, ran at a rapid pace down towards the town.
The long street of Gylingden stretched dim and silent before him. Slumber brooded over the little town, and his steps sounded sharp and hollow among the houses. He slackened his pace, and tapped sharply at the little window of that modest post-office, at which the young ladies in the pony carriage had pulled up the day before, and within which Luke Waggot was wont to sleep in a sort of wooden box that folded up and appeared to be a chest of drawers all day. Luke took care of Mr. Larkin's dogs, and groomed Mr. Wylder's horse, and 'cleaned up' his dog-cart, for Mark being close about money, and finding that the thing was to be done more cheaply that way, put up his horse and dog-cart in the post-office premises, and so evaded the livery charges of the 'Brandon Arms.'
But Luke was not there; and Captain Lake recollecting his habits and his haunt, hurried on to the 'Silver Lion,' which has its gable towards the common, only about a hundred steps away, for distances are not great in Gylingden. Here were the flow of soul and of stout, long pipes, long yarns, and tolerably long credits; and the humble scapegraces of the town resorted thither for the pleasures of a club-life, and often revelled deep into the small hours of the morning.
So Luke came forth.
D— it, where's the note?' said the captain, rummaging uneasily in his pockets.
'You know me—eh!'
'Captain Lake. Yes, Sir.'
'Well—oh! here it is.'
It was a scrap pencilled on the back of a letter—