Presently we stood at an iron milestone which had, I suppose, replaced the old stone road-mark of Elizabethan days, and saw thereon the words—“Stamford, 4 miles.” Then, looking across to the left, we noticed a path leading across the stubble to a long, dark wood.
At the gate leading into the field we awaited Philip, and, there being nobody in the vicinity, he quickly joined us, and we all three sped along the path beside the high thorn-hedge until we came to the border of the wood. While on the road we saw, lying in a distant hollow, a church spire which, from our map, we supposed to be that of Empingham.
The path ran along the outskirts of the wood, but we soon found a moss-grown stile, and crossing it continued along a by-path which was evidently very seldom used, for it led into the heart of the dark trees, thick undergrowth, and bracken.
“Remember the six oaks in line,” Usher remarked, halting and looking round, for he was used to exploration in savage lands, and his keen eyes were everywhere.
We, however, failed to discover the trees indicated, and so ill-defined and overgrown was the path we traversed that we were very soon off it, wandering about without any landmark.
I pointed out that a line of oaks existing in Elizabeth’s time would most probably have decayed or been cut down long ago. Oak is a valuable wood in these days, and during recent years the woodman has played havoc with the fine old trees that once existed in our English parks and forests. Even great forests themselves have been cut down and the roots grubbed up within our own short recollections. In more than one spot there, indeed, we discovered marks of the woodman’s work—old stumps where the ivy was trying to hide their nakedness, and in two places we found a newly-felled beech awaiting the woodman’s drag.
The six oaks we at last discovered—or rather two of them, both too decayed to be worthy of the timber merchant’s attention. In line were four stumps, all utterly rotten and half overgrown with bindweed, moss, and ivy. Then, standing beside the last stump of the line, we saw something white in the gloom, and went forward to examine it, finding it to be a large piece of grey rock cropping up from the ground, almost covered with yellow lichen, tiny ferns growing in luxuriance in every crevice. Before us, at some distance away, gleamed two other rocks, one quite high, and the other only two feet out of the earth. There were three in all—the Three Sisters, we supposed.
“Twenty-nine paces from the south,” Reilly remarked.
“That’s the south, where you are standing, doctor!” Usher cried, for he had taken his bearing by the sun.
I began at once to walk forward in the direction of the two rocks before me and midway, counting the paces. There were big trees everywhere, for we were in the thickest part of the wood, therefore I could not walk in a straight line, and was compelled to judge the extra paces I took.