Then Robin drew his breath sharply between his teeth; and knew that one more step had been passed, that had separated him from that which he feared....  He had come just now, still hesitating.  Still there had been passing through his mind hopes and ideas of what his father might do for him.  He knew well enough that he would never pay the fines, amounting sometimes to as much as twenty pounds a month; but he had thought that perhaps his father would give him a sum of money and let him go to fend for himself; that he might help him even to a situation somewhere; and now hope had died so utterly that he did not even dare speak of it.  And he had said “No” to Anthony; he said to himself at least that he had meant “No,” in spite of his hesitation.  All doors seemed closing, save that which terrified him....

“I have thought in my mind—­” he began; and stopped, for the terror of what was on his tongue grew suddenly upon him.

“Eh?”

Robin stood up.

“I must have time, sir,” he cried; “I must have time.  Do not press me too much.”

His father’s eyes shone bright and wrathful.  He beat on the table with his open hand; but the boy was too quick for him.

“I beg of you, sir, not to make me speak too soon.  It may be that you would hate that I should speak more than my silence.”

His whole person was tense and magnetic; his face was paler than ever; and it seemed as if his father understood enough, at least, to make him hesitate.  The two looked at one another; and it was the man’s eyes that tell first.

“You may have till Pentecost,” he said.

III

It would be at about an hour before dawn that Robin awoke for perhaps the third or fourth time that night; for the conflict still roared within his soul and would give him no peace.  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.