et by
nine."

They rode away from the half-awakened inn. A mist was over the fields,
and when they presently came to a stretch of forest, the leaves on
either hand were wet. The grey filled arcades and hollows, and the note
of the birds was as yet sleepy and without joyousness. They left the
woods and, mounting a hill, saw from its summit the sun rise in
splendour, then dipped again into fields where from moment to moment the
gold encroached. They rode rapidly in the freshness of the morning, by
wood and field and stream, so rapidly that it was hardly nine when they
passed a brick house with pillars set on a hill-top in a grove of oaks.
Rand looked at it fixedly as he rode by. Malplaquet was a Cary place,
and it had an air of Greenwood.

Three miles further on, sunk in elder and pokeberry and shaded by a
ragged willow, there appeared a wayside forge. The blacksmith was at
work, and the clink, clink of iron made a cheerful sound. Rand drew
rein. "Good-morning, Jack Forrest. Have a look, will you, at this shoe
of Selim's."

The smith stooped and looked. "I'll give him a new one in a twinkling,
Mr. Rand! From Richmond, sir?"

"Yes; from Richmond."

"Burr got off, didn't he? If the jury'd been from this county, we'd have
hanged him sure! Splitting the country into kindling wood, and stirring
up a yellow jacket's nest of Spaniards, and corrupting honest men! If
they won't hang him, then tar and feathers, say I! Soh, Selim! You've
been riding hard, sir."

"Yes. I wanted to be at home."

"'Tis mortal weather. When September's hot, it lays over July. We'll
have a storm this afternoon, I'm thinking. There's a deal of travel
despite the heat, and I'm not complaining of business. Mr. Cary of
Greenwood is just ahead of you. There, sir, that's done!"

The smith arose, patted Selim on the shoulder, and stood back. "You've
got a fine horse, Mr. Rand, and that's certain. By Meteor, ain't he, out
of Fatima?"

"Yes. Which of the Carys did you say--"

"Ludwell Cary. He came from Malplaquet and rode by an hour ago. The
other passed yesterday--"

"Did Mr. Cary say which road he would take at the ford?"

"No, he didn't. The main road, though, I reckon. The river road's bad
just now, and he seemed to have time before him. Thankee, Mr. Rand, and
good-day to you!"

Followed by Young isham, Rand travelled on by the dusty road, between
the parching elder and ironweed, blackberry and love vine. There was
dust upon the wayside ce