Not for twenty years had he bestridden one, and he did not understand
such new devices as free-wheels and change of gears. The mounting
had been the worst part, and it had only been achieved by the help
of a rockery. He had begun by cutting into two flower-beds, and
missing a birch tree by inches. But he clung on desperately, well
knowing that if he fell off it would be hard to remount, and at
length he gained the avenue. When he passed the lodge gates he
was riding fairly straight, and when he turned off the Ayr highway
to the side road that led to Dalquharter he was more or less master
of his machine.

He crossed the Garple by an ancient hunch-backed bridge, observing
even in his absorption with the handle-bars that the stream was
in roaring spate. He wrestled up the further hill with aching
calf-muscles, and got to the top just before his strength gave out.
Then as the road turned seaward he had the slope with him, and
enjoyed some respite. It was no case for putting up his feet, for
the gale was blowing hard on his right cheek, but the downward grade
enabled him to keep his course with little exertion. His anxiety
to get back to the scene of action was for the moment appeased,
since he knew he was making as good speed as the weather allowed,
so he had leisure for thought.

But the mind of this preposterous being was not on the business
before him. He dallied with irrelevant things--with the problems
of youth and love. He was beginning to be very nervous about Heritage,
not as the solitary garrison of the old Tower, but as the lover of Saskia.
That everybody should be in love with her appeared to him only proper,
for he had never met her like, and assumed that it did not exist.
The desire of the moth for the star seemed to him a reasonable thing,