The aspect of the country at once changed. It was as when a fever-patient passes from incoherent and inarticulate mutterings into connected syllables, and then to clearly distinct sentences. The wandering veins and seams in the bog had found direction and drift for their contents, acquired a cant down which the water ran, and valley, stream, and river were the definite result.
"Now," said Anthony, "our course is clear; we have but to follow the water."
"How far?"
"About four miles."
"And then?"
"Then I will get my horse, and we shall have a direct course before us."
"What, the high road to Tavistock?"
"No. You shall not go that way."
"By what way then will you take me?"
"By the Lyke-Way."