'I remember that hill,' she said tremulously, 'and through yonder gap on a fine day we should see the sea. Oh Roger! we are nearly there!'
Roger looked over his shoulder. 'That mysterious Colonel of yours is a clever man. You must tell me some day how he did it. There, at that clump of trees, we turn off for a smugglers' bridle path. I know it well. It runs down to the coast and spares the hill outside Garth. If no one sees us for the next five minutes we are safe.'
Marion followed Roger, and leaving the grey to pick his own footing, fixed her eye on the backward track till a copse of wind-blown oaks hid it from their view. The path wound perilously down a stony gully, difficult to ride save for the moorland-bred. The wind was wearing away, a steady fine rain falling in place of the gusts and clamour of the morning. The realisation that the end of the perilous journey was in sight was slowly dawning on the girl's shaken senses. Another couple of miles, and they would sight the cottages and banks of Garth.
A few minutes later Roger slowed his horse and waited for her. The track had fallen to the river bed, and there was room for the two to ride side by side. Roger looked keenly at the girl's face.
'Do you know,' said he, 'we have ridden all this time and I have not said a word of all that is in my mind. Somehow 'twas enough to have you by my side and be riding to freedom. Nothing else matters. And now in a few minutes we shall be at the village. Mawfy, I cannot,—I—my mind is fevered. To say thank you to some one who has saved your life sounds like foolishness.'
'I told you this morning not to try,' said Marion, lifting her grey eyes to his.
Roger looked a long look at the pale face framed in the wet clinging hair.
'And I am going to sea,' he said suddenly. 'But I shall find some means of hearing of you. You and my mother. You will see my mother and tell her?'
'She shall know at once,' said Marion gently.
'See,' cried Roger, 'yonder on the hill is Mother Poole's cottage. Do you remember?'