By tacit consent the two spared no energy or time in speech. In a short time they gained the track. An hour later they passed through Postbridge. There they decided to feed the horses. While the greys were being attended to, Roger playing the part of groom among the stable men, Marion was entertained by the innkeeper with the news of the countryside. Among other details the host gave a description of a gentleman who had passed through on the previous evening, wishful to lie at Princetown. Listening, Marion mused a little on the coincidence: twice that morning she had heard of the stranger westward bound.
At the crest of the steep rise out of Postbridge Roger turned in his saddle and cast a keen eye over the Exeter road. With a swift gesture he pulled up his horse and remained motionless. Instantly on the alert, Marion stopped and followed the direction of his gaze. There was a lull in the storm; the sky had lightened over the east. A bar of watery sunlight fell across the hills that lay between Mortonhampstead and Postbridge. A couple of men on horseback showed against the skyline, minute figures only visible to those who had been trained from childhood to scan far distances. For a few seconds their horses showed clear. Then a driving cloud swathed the sunlight, and the moor lay misty and uncertain again.
'Did you see?' asked Roger quietly. 'Or did I imagine it?'
Marion nodded, and settling herself in her saddle raised her crop. An unexpected, heavy blow startled the grey into a canter that soon became a gallop. The second horse came easily alongside, Roger looking into his holsters as he rode. Before they had gone half a mile the storm on the height of the moor redoubled its fury. Rain lashed their faces. Bending sideways to the blast they drove the greys mercilessly on, only slightly slacking their speed as Princetown was reached and passed. There the track dropped into the valley. As the steaming animals picked their way down the slope, Marion turned to Roger.
'Do you think we should try to change horses at Tavistock?'
Roger shook his head. ''Tis but another thirty miles to Garth. These brutes will soon know, if they don't know now, that they are nearing home. They can do it. 'Twould mean at least ten minutes to change.'
Marion took what ease she could from the slackened pace. Her cloak and habit were soaked and hung limply about her. Wearily she drooped in the saddle, thankful for the respite from the storm that beat the heights.
'I am not worth it, Mawfy,' said Roger suddenly.
Marion smiled and straightened herself a little, but she made no reply. The bed of the valley passed, the greys trotted slowly up the slope.
'Now for it!' said Roger, as they gained comparatively level land. Soon they were at a straining gallop again, their heads bent to the wind and rain. From time to time they looked back, but the valley had swallowed their pursuers.