at
the mill knew the idea that brought him there, but they may have
thought--if they thought at all--that he put strange questions. It was,
moreover, matter of regret to them, and of much comment when he had
passed, that Mr. Fairfax Cary had lost an old and well-liked way of
making a man laugh whether he would or no. He didn't jest any more, he
didn't smile and flash out something at them fit to make them hold their
sides. He had aged ten years since September, he had the high look of
the Carys, but he was even quieter than his brother had been--all the
sparkle and play dashed out as by a violent hand. The smith and the men
at the mill thought it a great pity, shook their heads as they looked
after him, then fell again to work, or to mere happy lounging in the
first spring airs.

The lonely horseman crossed the ford below the mill, drew rein beneath
the guide-post, and halted there for some minutes, deep in thought. At
last, with a shake of the head and an impatient sigh, he spoke to
Saladin, and once again they took the main road. "It is the third time,"
thought the rider. "There is luck in the third time."

The quiet highroad, wide and sunny, seemed to mock him, and the torn
white clouds sailing before the March wind might have been a beaten
navy, carrying with it a wreck of hope. The gusty air brought a swirl of
sere leaves across his path, and the dust rose chokingly. "Caw! caw!"
sounded the crows from a nearby field. The dust fell, the wind passed,
the road lay quiet and bright. "Never!" said Cary between his teeth. "I
will never give up!"

Half an hour's riding, and he came in sight of a small ordinary, its low
porch flush with the road, a tall gum tree standing sentinel at the
back, and on the porch steps a figure which, on nearer approach, he
recognized as that of the innkeeper. He rode up, dismounted, and
fastened Saladin to the horse-rack, then walked up to and greeted a
weight of drowsy flesh, centre to a cloud of tobacco smoke, and wedded
for life to the squat bottle and deep glass adorning the step beside it.

"Good-morning, Mr. Cross."

The innkeeper stirred, removed his pipe, steadied himself by a hand upon
the step, and turned a dull red face upon the speaker. "Morning,
Mr.--Mr. Cary! Which way did you come, sir? I never heard you."

"I came up from the ford. You were asleep, I think."

Mr. Cross denied the imputation. "Not at this hour, sir, never at this
hour--not at ten o'clock in the morning,