Only one luminous point was to be seen, at first, in all the wide and splendid landscape. It shone from Threlfall Tower, a dark and indistinguishable mass amid its hanging woods.
"Old Melrose—counting out his money!"
But as the scornful fancy crossed his mind, a few other dim and scattered lights began to prick the gloom of the fast-darkening valley. That twinkle far away, in the direction of St. John's Vale, might it not be the light of Green Cottage—of Lydia's lamp?
He sat his horse, motionless, consumed with longing and grief. Yet, hard exercise in the open air, always seemed to bring him a kind of physical comfort. "It was a jolly run!" he thought, yet half ashamed. His young blood was in love with life, through all heartache.
Suddenly, a whirring sound from the road on his right, and the flash of moving lamps. He saw that a small motor was approaching, and his mare began to fidget.
"Gently, old girl!"
The motor approached and slowed at the corner.
"Hallo Undershaw! is that you?"
The motor stopped and Undershaw jumped out, and turned off his engine.
Tatham's horse was pirouetting.
"All right," said Undershaw; "I'll walk by you a bit. Turn her up your road."