And, as he lay there, awake
in an instant, staring up into the dark, once more weighing and
balancing this and the other, swayed by enthusiasm at one moment,
weighed down with melancholy the next--there came to him, distinct and
clear through the still night, the sound of horses' hoofs, perhaps of
three or four beasts, walking together.
Now, whether it was the ferment of his own soul, or the work of some
interior influence, or indeed, the very intimation of God Himself, Robin
never knew (though he inclined later to the last of these); yet it
remains as a fact that when he heard that sound, so fierce was his
curiosity to know who it was that rode abroad in company at such an
hour, he threw off the blankets that covered him, went to his window and
threw it open. Further, when he had listened there a second or two, and
had heard the sound cease and then break out again clearer and nearer,
signifying that the party was riding through the village, his curiosity
grew so intense, that he turned from the window, snatched up and put on
a few clothes, groping for them as well as he could in the dimness, and
was presently speeding, barefooted, downstairs, telling himself in one
breath that he was a fool, and in the next that he must reach the
churchyard wall before the horses did.
It was but a short run when he had come down into the court, by the
little staircase that led from the men's rooms; the ground was soaking
with the rains of yesterday, but he cared nothing for that; and, as the
riding party turned up the little ascent that led beneath the
churchyard, Robin, on the other side of the wall, was keeping between
the tombstones to see, and not be seen.
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