John Cobb looked about him. “I know now where we are. Over there, a mile through, is a ruined farm. Lonely! It’s so lonely you lose yourself—and there’s a ghost walks in the wood.”
“Let’s go look.”
John was not averse, being in the other’s company. They left cart track and rode over yielding earth under old trees. There was no path and the trees must be rounded. The way they had come sank from sight, almost it might seem from mind, so quick the place took them. Bettany’s blue eyes sparkled. He loved all this; he might come at any moment upon wizard’s tower. What indeed they came upon was another faint track, leading north and south. “Abbey is that way and Somerville Hall that way, and over there is the turn to the road we left. They come in and go out that way—but, Lord, there’s mortal little travel! You might say it’s a witched place.”
“That is what I like!” said the other. “Oh, if I might I would travel far!”
They rode as though it were bottom of the sea, it was so green and silent. Bettany turned in his saddle and studied the lay of the place. “When Somerville goes to Silver Cross I think he takes this way. It’s not so far.”
“Turn here to the ruined farm. David that lives here, I’ve heard my mother say, was foster brother to Sir Robert’s father.”
They rode on and now they saw the ruined farm between the trees. A wreck it seemed, like a broken ship slipped down to sea floor. Then by a thorn in bloom stood up Morgen Fay.
“Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
In a moment she knew him and Bettany knew her for all her servant dress and stained face. “How do you come here—how do you come here? You are in London—”