"We will find him again."
"Yes: always providing that it isn't too late."
Raoul quickened their pace. They were going at a fair rate, running through the villages without slackening their pace and bumping over the cobbles of the towns. The night was beginning to fall when they reached Nantes, where they had to stop to buy petrol.
"Still an hour's journey," said Raoul.
On the way she made him explain to her the exact topography of Hillocks Manor, the direction of the road which ran through the orchard to the house, the position of the hall and staircase. Moreover, he had to give her full information about his grandfather's habits, about the old man's age (he was seventy-five), and his dog Goliath—a huge beast, terrible to look at, with a terrific bark, but quite harmless and incapable of defending his master.
At the big market-town of Clisson, they entered La Vendée. When they had nearly reached the Manor Raoul would have liked to make a detour through the village where they would find the servants. They could take with them a couple of farm-laborers. Dorothy would not hear of it.
"But, after all," he exclaimed, "what are you afraid of?"
"Everything," she replied. "From that man—everything. We have no right to lose a minute."
They left the main road and turned down a lane which was more like a deep-rutted cart-track.
"There it is, over yonder," he said. "There is a light in the window of his room."