“Before five minutes had passed we were safe out of the cottage and in the high-road—I, mounted on my faithful and partly refreshed horse, eating ravenously of the scraps of bread and meat my companions had left, while they trudged along in the snow one on either side.
“In this manner we progressed for an hour or so in silence, until about one o’clock there appeared on the side of a distant hill a twinkling light. I knew it at once. It had guided me home often and often before now, and it was doing so again. But in what strange company!
“‘That’s Culverton, on the hill there,’ said I.
“The men, who were nearly dead beat with their tramp through the deep snow, said nothing, but plodded on doggedly. It was nearly an hour more before we reached the outskirts of the estate, and by this time so exhausted were they that when I cried a halt they fairly sat down in the snow.
“I was strongly tempted to leave them there; but a desire to bring them to condign punishment prevented me. They were armed, and I was not. Besides, the reference in the letter to my father’s steward made me anxious to sift the matter to the bottom.
“‘Come, come,’ said I, ‘at that rate you’ll never see the strong box. Get up, men!’
“They struggled to their feet. Had they been anything but the villains they were I could have pitied them, they looked so miserable.
“‘Hold my horse,’ said I, dismounting, ‘while I go and reconnoitre. I know every inch of the ground. Keep in the dark, whatever you do, under the hedge there. So. Are you loaded?’
“‘I am,’ said Tom, sullenly taking out his pistol.
“‘So am I,’ said the other.