I knew there were few
places in that county where Shipley would dare to trust himself even for
a night's lodging: some of his relations lived within half a league of
Symonds; and, if he meant fairly by me and mine, he was certain to
advise the latter of his return: so I resolved to push straight on for
my old quarters. Between me and the wished for _gite_ there lay sixteen
miles of hilly road--darkling every minute faster.
I do not care to remember that dreary ride--or rather, walk--for two
hours, at least, of the distance were done on foot. For awhile I had
pleasanter companions than my own sullen thoughts: a pair of blue-birds
kept with me, for two or three miles at least, fluttering and twittering
along the fences by my side, with the prettiest sociability--sometimes
ahead, sometimes behind--never more than a dozen yards off; their
brilliant plumage shot through the twilight like jets of sapphire flame:
I felt absurdly sorry when they disappeared at last into the deepening
blackness. I had been warned of the probability of encountering a
cavalry picket somewhere on my road: so I was not greatly surprised when
the possible peril became a certain one. I was riding slowly up a low,
steep hill, about ten miles from Newmarket (I think the two or three
houses are dignified by the name of Rockville), when I saw the
indistinct forms of several horses, and the taller figure of one mounted
man, standing out against the clear night-sky on the very crest of the
ascent.
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