Cuthbert would have liked his sister to have seen him go forth, but that was not thought advisable.  He wore an old riding suit of Philip’s, which had fitted the latter before his shoulders had grown so broad and his figure assumed its present manly proportions.  It suited Cuthbert well, and in spite of its having seen some service from its former owner, was a far better and handsomer dress than anything he had ever worn before, His own meagre wardrobe and few possessions were packed in the saddlebag across the saddle.  His uncle had made no attempt to send him out equipped as a relative of the house of Trevlyn, and Cuthbert was glad that there should be no false seeming as to his condition when he appeared at Martin Holt’s door.  Sir Richard had given him at parting a small purse containing a couple of gold pieces and a few silver crowns, and had told him that he might in London sell the nag he bestrode and keep the price himself.  He was not an animal of any value, and had already seen his best days, but he would carry Cuthbert soberly and safely to London town; and as the lad was still somewhat weak from his father’s savage treatment, he was not sorry to be spared the long tramp over the deep mud of winter roads.

“I would not have you travel far tonight,” said Philip, as he paced beside the sure-footed beast, who leisurely picked his way along the familiar road.  “The moon will be up, to be sure, ere long; but it is ill travelling in the night.  It is well to get clear of this neighbourhood in the dark, for fear your father might chance to espy you and make your going difficult.  Yet I would have you ask shelter for your steed and yourself tonight at the little hostelry you will find just this side Hammerton Heath.  The heath is an ill place for travellers, as you doubtless know.  If you should lose the road, as is like enough, it being as evil and rough a track as well may be, you will like enough plunge into some bog or morass from which you may think yourself lucky to escape with life.  And if you do contrive to keep to the track, the light-heeled gentlemen of the road may swoop down upon you like birds of prey, and rob you of the little worldly wealth that you possess.  Wherefore I counsel you to pause ere you reach that ill-omened waste, and pass the night at the hostel there.  The beds may be something poor, but they will be better than the wet bog, and you will be less like to be robbed there than on the road.”

“I will take your good counsel, cousin,” said Cuthbert.  “I have not much to lose, but that little is my all.  I will stop at the place you bid me, and only journey forth across the heath when the morrow’s sun be up.”

“You will do well.  And now farewell, for I must return.  I will do all that in me lies to watch over and guard Petronella.  She shall be to me as a sister, and I will act a brother’s part by her, until I may have won a right to call her something more.  Have no fears for her.  I will die sooner than she shall suffer.  Her father shall not visit on her his wrath at your escape.”