Now and then, whenever we came to a pleasant place, where a fallen tree, or the step under a cross, offered us a resting-place by the roadside, we sat down, scarcely from weariness, but rather for enjoyment.  I had full directions as to our route, and I carried a letter from Rosalie to a cousin of hers, who lived in a convent about twelve miles from Noirean; where, she assured me, they would take us in gladly for a night, and perhaps send us on part of our way in their conveyance, in the morning.  Twelve miles only had to be accomplished this first day, and we could saunter as we chose, making our dinner of the little loaves which we had bought hot from the oven, as we quitted the town, and drinking of the clear little rills, which were gurgling merrily under the brown hedge-rows.  If we reached the convent before six o’clock we should find the doors open, and should gain admission.

But in the afternoon the sky changed.  The low floor of clouds rose gradually, and began to spread themselves, growing grayer and thicker as they crept higher into the sky.  The blue became paler and colder.  The wind changed a point or two from the south, and a breath from the east blew, with a chilly touch, over the wide open plain we were now crossing.

Insensibly our high spirits sank.  Minima ceased to prattle; and I began to shiver a little, more from an inward dread of the utterly unknown future, than from any chill of the easterly wind.  The road was very desolate.  Not a creature had we seen for an hour or two, from whom I could inquire if we were on the high-road to Granville.  About noon we had passed a roadside cross, standing where three ways met, and below it a board had pointed toward Granville.  I had followed its direction in confidence, but now I began to feel somewhat anxious.  This road, along which the grass was growing, was strangely solitary and dreary.

It brought us after a while to the edge of a common, stretching before us, drear and brown, as far as my eye could reach.  A wild, weird-looking flat, with no sign of cultivation; and the road running across it lying in deep ruts, where moss and grass were springing.  As far as I could guess, it was drawing near to five o’clock; and, if we had wandered out of our way, the right road took an opposite direction some miles behind us.  There was no gleam of sunshine now, no vision of blue overhead.  All there was gray, gloomy, and threatening.  The horizon was rapidly becoming invisible; a thin, cold, clinging vapor shut it from us.  Every few minutes a fold of this mist overtook us, and wrapped itself about us, until the moaning wind drifted it away.  Minima was quite silent now, and her weary feet dragged along the rough road.  The hand which rested upon my wrist felt hot, as it clasped it closely.  The child was worn out, and was suffering more than I did, though in uncomplaining patience.

“Are you very tired, my Minima?” I asked.

“It will be so nice to go to bed, when we reach the convent,” she said, looking up with a smile.  “I can’t imagine why the prince has not come yet.”