The Hussar officer has a horse, which has been standing in a little lean-to shed, under saddle. The lugubrious dialogue has been carried on simultaneously with the bridling, and the “Good night” is said as Ryecroft springs up on his stirrup.
Then as he rides away into the darkness, and Jack Wingate stands listening to the departing hoof-stroke, at each repetition more indistinct, he feels indeed forsaken, forlorn; only one thing in the world now worth living for—but one to keep him anchored to life—his aged mother!
Volume Two—Chapter Twelve.
Making Ready for the Road.
Having reached his hotel, Captain Ryecroft seeks neither rest nor sleep, but stays awake for the remainder of the night.
The first portion of his time he spends in gathering up his impedimenta, and packing. Not a heavy task. His luggage is light, according to the simplicity of a soldier’s wants; and as an old campaigner he is not long in making ready for the route.
His fishing tackle, gun-case and portmanteau, with an odd bundle or two of miscellaneous effects, are soon strapped and corded. After which he takes a seat by a table to write out the labels.
But now a difficulty occurs to him—the address! His name of course, but what the destination? Up to this moment he has not thought of where he is going; only that he must go somewhere—away from the Wye. There is no Lethe in that stream for memories like his.