Some minutes afterwards they heard the sound of a horse's hoofs
clattering on the road to their left, and going in the same direction. It
was an unusual sound at that late hour, and both stopped instinctively
and looked at each other.

"A late traveler, Dickon," said Desmond.

"Ay, maybe a king's post, Measter Desmond," replied the old man.

Without more words they went on till they came to a lane leading to the
laborer's cottage.

"We part here," said Desmond. "Dickon, good night!"

"Good night to you, sir!" said the old man. He paused; then, in a grave,
earnest, quavering voice, he added: "The Lord Almighty have you in his
keeping, Measter Desmond, watch over you night and day, now and
evermore."

And with that he hobbled down the lane.

At nine o'clock that night Richard Burke left the Grange--an unusual
thing for him--and walked quickly to the Four Alls. The inn was closed,
and shutters darkened the windows; but, seeing a chink of light between
the folds, the farmer knocked at the door. There was no answer. He
knocked again and again, grumbling under his breath. At length, when his
patience was almost exhausted, a window above opened, and, looking up,
Mr. Burke dimly saw a head.

"Is that you, Grinsell?" he asked.