On the second morning they mounted before the day had quite broken,
in order that they might breakfast on the summit of the ridge which
separates the two oceans. At this spot the good road comes to an
end, and the forest track begins; and here also, they would, in
truth, enter the forest, though their path had for some time been
among straggling trees and bushes. And now, again, they rode two
and two, up to this place of halting, Arkwright and Ring well
knowing that from hence their labours would in truth commence.

Poor Mrs. Arkwright, when she reached this resting-place, would fain
have remained there for the rest of the day. One word, in her low,
plaintive voice, she said, asking whether they might not sleep in
the large shed which stands there. But this was manifestly
impossible. At such a pace they would never reach Greytown; and she
spoke no further word when he told her that they must go on.

At about noon that day the file of travellers formed itself into the
line which it afterwards kept during the whole of the journey, and
then started by the narrow path into the forest. First walked the
leader of the guides, then another man following him; Abel Ring came
next, and behind him the maid-servant; then the baby's mule, with
the Indian ever at its head; close at his heels followed Mrs.
Arkwright, so that the mother's eye might be always on her child;
and after her her husband; then another guide on foot completed the
number of the travellers. In this way they went on and on, day
after day, till they reached the banks of the Serapiqui, never once
varying their places in the procession. As they started in the
morning, so they went on till their noon-day's rest, and so again
they made their evening march. In that journey there was no idea of
variety, no searching after the pleasures of scenery, no attempts at