ard wheels coming
in two directions.

The vehicle approaching on his right he soon recognized as the
carrier's. There were the accompanying sounds of the owner's voice and
the smack of his whip, distinct in the still morning air, by which he
encouraged his horses up the hill.

The other set of wheels sounded from the lane Stephen had just
traversed. On closer observation, he perceived that they were moving
from the precincts of the ancient manor-house adjoining the vicarage
grounds. A carriage then left the entrance gates of the house, and
wheeling round came fully in sight. It was a plain travelling carriage,
with a small quantity of luggage, apparently a lady's. The vehicle
came to the junction of the four ways half-a-minute before the carrier
reached the same spot, and crossed directly in his front, proceeding by
the lane on the other side.

Inside the carriage Stephen could just discern an elderly lady with a
younger woman, who seemed to be her maid. The road they had taken led to
Stratleigh, a small watering-place sixteen miles north.

He heard the manor-house gates swing again, and looking up saw another
person leaving them, and walking off in the direction of the parsonage.
'Ah, how much I wish I were moving that way!' felt he parenthetically.
The gentleman was tall, and resembled Mr. Swancourt in outline and
attire. He opened the vicarage gate and went in. Mr. Swancourt, then,
it certainly was. Instead of remaining in bed that morning Mr. Swancourt
must have taken it into his head to see his new neighbour off on a
journey. He must have been greatly interested in that neighbour to do
such an unusual thing.

The carrier's conveyance had pulled up, and Stephen now handed in his
portmanteau and mounted the shafts. 'Who is that lady in the carriage?'
he inquired indifferently of Lickpan the carrier.

'That, sir, is Mrs. Troyton, a widder wi' a mint o' money. She's the
owner of all that part of Endelstow that is not Lord Luxellian's. Only
been here a short time; she came into it by law. The owner formerly was
a terrible mysterious party--never lived here--hardly ever was seen here
except in the month of September, as I might say.'

The horses were started again, and noise rendered further discourse a
matter of too great exertion. Stephen crept inside under the tilt, and
was soon lost in reverie.

Three hours and a half of straining up hills and jogging down brought
them to St. Launce's, the market town and r