terman's Rest from the direction of
Kingston. Accustomed as he was to long tramps, he felt no fatigue, and
with a boy's natural curiosity he decided to return to the city by a
different route, following the river bank. He had not walked far before
he came to the ferry at Twickenham. The view on the other side of the
river attracted him: meadows dotted with cows and sheep, a verdant hill
with pleasant villas here and there; and, seeing the ferryman resting on
his oars, he accosted him.

"Can I get to London if I cross here?" he asked.

"Sure you can, sir. Up the hill past Mr. Walpole his house; then you
comes to Isleworth and Brentford, and a straight road through Hammersmith
village--a fine walk, sir, and only a penny for the ferryman."

Desmond paid his penny and crossed. He sauntered along up Strawberry
Hill, taking a good look at the snug little house upon which Mr. Horace
Walpole was spending much money and pains. Wandering on, and preferring
bylanes to the high road, he lost his bearings, and at length, fearing
that he was going in the wrong direction, he stopped at a wayside cottage
to inquire the way.

He was farther out than he knew. The woman who came to the door in answer
to his knock said that, having come so far, he had better proceed in the
same direction until he reached Hounslow, and then strike into the London
road and keep to it.

Desmond was nothing loath. He had heard of Hounslow and those notorious
"Diana's foresters," Plunket and James Maclean--highwaymen who a few
years before had been the terror of night travelers across the lonely
Heath. There was a fascination about the scene of their exploits. So he
trudged on, feeling now a little tired, and hoping to get a lift in some
farmer's cart that might be going towards London.

More than once as he walked his thoughts recurred to the scene at the
Waterman's Rest. They were a rough, villainous-looking set, these members
of the crew of the Good Intent! Of course, as supercargo he would not
come into close contact with them; and Mr. Diggle had warned him that he
would find seafaring men somewhat different from the country folk among
whom all his life hitherto had been passed.

Diggle's frankness had pleased him. They had left the Four Alls early on
the morning after that strange incident at the squire's. Desmond had told
his friend what had happened, and Diggle, apparently surprised to learn
of Grinsell's villainy, had declared that the sooner the