idea where it led to, but somehow they felt more afraid now to turn back
than to go on; and, indeed, it would not have been any use, for, had he
cared to do so, the man could have overtaken them in a moment. The stile
was hard for their short legs to climb, but they had a great dislike to
the idea of his touching them, and would not ask for help. And once he
had got them on the other side of it he seemed to feel he had them in
his power, and did not take much notice of them, but strode on through
the rough brushwood--for they were by this time in a sort of little
coppice--as if he cared for nothing but to get over the ground as fast
as possible. And still the two followed him--through the coppice, across
one or two ploughed fields, down a bit of lane where they had never been
before, plunging at last into a wood where the trees grew thick and
dark--a forest of gloom it seemed to Duke and Pamela--and all this time
they never met a creature, or passed any little cottage such as they
were accustomed to see on the cheerful Sandlingham road. The pedlar knew
the country, and had chosen the least frequented way. Had they by any
chance met a carriage or cart, even when crossing the high road, he
would not have dared to risk being seen with the children, but in that
case he would no doubt have hurried off, leaving them to find their way
home as best they might. But no such good fortune having befallen them,
on they trotted--hand-in-hand for the most part, though by this time
several stumbles had scratched and bruised them, and their flying hair,
flushed faces and tumbled clothes made them look very different from the
little "master and missy" Biddy had sent out into the peaceful garden to
play that sweet April afternoon.

_Why_ they went on, they could not themselves have told. Often in after
years, and when they had grown older and wiser, they asked themselves
the question. It was not exactly fear, for as yet the man had not
actually spoken roughly to them, nor was it altogether a feeling of