caressing her. The ostler conjectured from the look of the mare that he
had been out with the hounds and lost his way. It appeared to Redworth
singularly, that near the ending of a wild goose chase, his plight was
pretty well described by the fellow. However, he had to knock at the door
of The Crossways now, in the silent night time, a certainly empty house,
to his fancy. He fed on a snack of cold meat and tea, standing, and set
forth, clearly directed, 'if he kept a sharp eye open.' Hitherto he had
proved his capacity, and he rather smiled at the repetition of the
formula to him, of all men. A turning to the right was taken, one to the
left, and through the churchyard, out of the gate, round to the right,
and on. By this route, after an hour, he found himself passing beneath
the bare chestnuts of the churchyard wall of Storling, and the sparkle of
the edges of the dead chestnut-leaves at his feet reminded him of the
very ideas he had entertained when treading them. The loss of an hour
strung him to pursue the chase in earnest, and he had a beating of the
heart as he thought that it might be serious. He recollected thinking it
so at Copsley. The long ride, and nightfall, with nothing in view, had
obscured his mind to the possible behind the thick obstruction of the
probable; again the possible waved its marsh-light. To help in saving her
from a fatal step, supposing a dozen combinations of the conditional
mood, became his fixed object, since here he was--of that there was no
doubt; and he was not here to play the fool, though the errand were
foolish. He entered the churchyard, crossed the shadow of the tower, and
hastened along the path, fancying he beheld a couple of figures vanishing
before him. He shouted; he hoped to obtain directions from these natives:
the moon was bright, the gravestones legible; but no answer came back,
and the place appeared to belong entirely to the dead. 'I've frightened
them,' he thought. They left a queerish sensation in his frame. A ride
down to Sussex to see ghosts would be an odd experience; but an
undigested dinner of tea is the very grandmother of ghosts; and he
accused it of confusing him, sight and mind. Out of the gate, now for the
turning to the right, and on. He turned. He must have previously turned
wrongly somewhere--and where? A light in a cottage invited him to apply
for the needed directions. The door was opened by a woman, who had never
heard tell of The Crossways, nor had he