On Monday morning at half-past seven, after a good breakfast, I was
at the gate, girt and equipped for my journey. The poachers'
garments had, of course, long been discarded, and I was clad in the
suit of serviceable homespun obtained for me from Bridgenorth in
the first days of my service, and now but little the worse for
wear. All the family was at the gate to bid me farewell, even
Mistress Lucy, in her riding habit, for she was wont to go for an
hour's canter on fine mornings, before breakfast at half-past
eight. The adieux were said; all wished me well; Mr. Allardyce, as
a parting shot, said that I should always find a job on his estate
if I fell in with more poachers, or if my fortunes at Bristowe did
not turn out to my liking; and then, my heart warm with their
kindness, I set off up the road.
Six or seven miles lay between me and the highroad to Bristowe
through Worcester and Gloucester, but I knew of a short cut four
miles from the Hall, which would bring me into the road at the
turnpike at Deuxhill, some way farther south, and save a good three
miles of the road. I had learned of this short cut in the course of
my fishing expeditions with Roger; it was the nearest way to the
Borle Brook, where our angling had ever the best success--a narrow
track striking off to the right, very rutty and rough, bordered by
hedges, and uphill but not steep.
I had tramped three miles or more, at a good pace, when I heard
galloping horses behind me, and the rumble of wheels.
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