His father, with some other county men, was bestirring himself about the putting-up of a stone at Crishowell to the toll-keeper, and had remarked at breakfast that he wanted to consult Mr. Lewis about the inscription. Harry pricked up his ears.
“I suppose I shall have to write another couple of sheets,” growled the Squire. “Really, with all the writing I have had to do of late, I am beginning to curse the inventor of the alphabet.”
“Can’t I help you, sir?” inquired Llewellyn. “I have nothing particular to do this morning.”
“Nothing particular to do! What is the use of my keeping an agent, I should like to know, who has ‘nothing particular to do’? Eh, sir?”
Llewellyn held his peace.
“I can go to Crishowell, and give your message; I was thinking of riding out that way in any case,” said Harry boldly.
The Squire had forgotten the existence of Isoline Ridgeway a couple of days after the ball, and he really wanted to get the business of the gravestone settled. “Very well,” he assented, rather mollified, most of his wrath having evaporated upon his youngest son, “but you will have to start soon if you mean to get home again before dark. The roads are pretty bad in this thaw.”
So Harry had departed, nothing loth, and Llewellyn again held his peace, though he thought a good deal. He had not forgotten Isoline, but he had sense enough to know how useless speech can be.
The roads were no better than the old Squire had supposed, nevertheless Harry did not seem inclined to get over them very quickly, for he did not once let his horse go out of a sober walk. He had delayed his start till after mid-day in spite of his father’s advice, so by the time he reached a secluded bit of lane about half-a-mile from Crishowell village, the afternoon light was wearing itself out beyond the fields and coppices lying westward. Here he dismounted, and leading the animal into a clump of bushes, he took the buffer out of his pocket and began to cut the clinches out of the shoe on the near fore. Then he wrenched it gradually off with the pincers. When this was done, he drew the reins over his arm and tramped sturdily through the mud, carrying it in his hand. In this plight he arrived at the Vicar of Crishowell’s door.