It was a fox-hunting morning, and during a long run Frank sustained his character as a good and daring rider, to the admiration of Diana and Sir Hildebrand, and to the secret disappointment of his other kind kinsfolk, who had prophesied that he would certainly "be off at the first burst," chiefly for the reason that he had a queer, outlandish binding round his hat.
It was plain that Diana wanted to speak with him apart, but the close attendance of Cousin Thornie for some time made this impossible. That loutish youth's persistence finally fretted the girl, and having been accustomed all her life to ride the straightest way to her desire, she bade him be off to see that the earths above Woolverton Mill were duly stopped.
After some objections Thornie was got safely out of the road, and Diana led the way to a little hill whence there was a fine view in every direction. She pointed, as Frank thought, somewhat significantly to the north.
"Yonder whitish speck is Hawkesmore Crag in Scotland," she said, "the distance is hardly eighteen miles, as the crow flies. Your horse will carry you there in two hours—and I will lend you my mare if you think her less blown."
"But," said Frank, quite mystified, "I have so little wish to be in Scotland, that if my horse's head were in Scotland, I would not give his tail the trouble of following. What should I do in Scotland, Miss Vernon?"
"Why, provide for your safety—do you understand me now, Mr. Frank?"
"Less than ever, Miss Vernon," he answered. "I have not the most distant conception of what you mean."
"Why, then," said Diana, "to be plain, there is an information lodged with our nearest Justice of the Peace, Squire Inglewood, that you were concerned in a robbery of government papers and money sent to pay the troops in Scotland. A man with whom you travelled, and whom you certainly frightened, has lodged such a complaint against you. His name is Morris."
"Morris has been robbed?"
"Ay," said Diana, "and he swears you are the man who robbed him."
