Strange to say, failure seemed to have
improved Rosmore's temper rather than aggravated it. He had at least a
score of witnesses to prove who Galloping Hermit was. A girl might be
romantic enough to pity such a man, but it could hardly be that pity
which is akin to love.
"She has the pride of her race in her," he murmured. "I would not have
it otherwise. There are a dozen ways to a woman's heart, and if need be
I will try them all."
The prospect appeared to please him, for he smiled. So for two hours
they rode in the general direction of Winchester.
"This is foolery," whispered Sayers to his companion. "I warrant the
Brown Mask has gone to earth long ago. His lordship has more knowledge
of this way than he pretends, I shouldn't wonder, and knows of a nest
with a pretty bird in it. There may be other birds about to look after
her, Watson. Such kind of hunting is more to my taste than the sort
we've been sweated with to-day."
They were presently traversing a road with a wood on one side and fields
on the other, when a glimmer of light shone in front of them, and the
barking of a dog, catching the sound of the approaching horsemen
probably, awoke the evening echoes.
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