charge and put his foot in the stirrup. He had kissed him several times
before he did so; but a sort of yearning of the heart seemed to come
over him, and turning back again to the door of the inn, he once more
pressed him to his heart, ere he departed.



CHAPTER V.

Journeys were in those days at least treble the length they are at
present. It may be said that the distance from London to York, or from
Carlisle to Berwick, could never be above a certain length. Measured by
a string probably such would have been the case; but if the reader
considers how much more sand, gravel, mud, and clay, the wheels of a
carriage had to go through in those days, he will easily see how it was
the distances were so protracted.

At all events, fifty or sixty miles was a long, laborious journey; and
at whatever hour the traveller might set out upon his way, he was not
likely to reach the end of it, without becoming a "borrower from the
night of a dark hour or two."

Such was the case with the tenant of a large cumbrous carriage, which,
drawn heavily on by four stout horses wended slowly on the King's
Highway, not very far from the spot where the wooden gates that we have
described raised their white faces by the side of the road.

The panels of that carriage, as well as the ornaments of the top
thereof, bore the arms of a British earl; and there was a heavy and
dignified swagger about the vehicle itself, which seemed to imply a