"Then you can't do better than follow us," answered Mr. Mellish; "the road's clean enough, and your horse seems a good one to go. You can keep us in sight, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir, and thank ye."
"All right, then."
Talbot Bulstrode's thorough-breds dashed off, but the rakish-looking horse kept his ground behind them. He had something of the insolent, off-hand assurance of a butcher's horse, accustomed to whirl a bare-headed blue-coated master through the sharp morning air.
"I was right, Lolly," Mr. Mellish said, as he left the dog-cart behind.
"How do you mean, dear?" asked Aurora.
"The man who spoke to us just now is the man who has been inquiring for me at Felden. He's a Yorkshireman."
"A Yorkshireman!"
"Yes; didn't you hear the north-country twang?"
No: she had not listened to the man, nor heeded him. How should she think of anything but her new-born happiness—the new-born confidence between herself and the husband she loved?