To return now to my Uncle Ben—­and indeed he would not let me go more than three land-yards from him—­there was very little said between us along the lane and across the hill, although the day was pleasant.  I could see that he was half amiss with his mind about the business, and not so full of security as an elderly man should keep himself.  Therefore, out I spake, and said,—­

“Uncle Reuben, have no fear.  I know every inch of the ground, sir; and there is no danger nigh us.”

“Fear, boy!  Who ever thought of fear?  ’Tis the last thing would come across me.  Pretty things those primroses.”

At once I thought of Lorna Doone, the little maid of six years back, and how my fancy went with her.  Could Lorna ever think of me?  Was I not a lout gone by, only fit for loach-sticking?  Had I ever seen a face fit to think of near her?  The sudden flash, the quickness, the bright desire to know one’s heart, and not withhold her own from it, the soft withdrawal of rich eyes, the longing to love somebody, anybody, anything, not imbrued with wickedness—­

My uncle interrupted me, misliking so much silence now, with the naked woods falling over us.  For we were come to Bagworthy forest, the blackest and the loneliest place of all that keep the sun out.  Even now, in winter-time, with most of the wood unriddled, and the rest of it pinched brown, it hung around us like a cloak containing little comfort.  I kept quite close to Peggy’s head, and Peggy kept quite close to me, and pricked her ears at everything.  However, we saw nothing there, except a few old owls and hawks, and a magpie sitting all alone, until we came to the bank of the hill, where the pony could not climb it.  Uncle Ben was very loath to get off, because the pony seemed company, and he thought he could gallop away on her, if the worst came to the worst, but I persuaded him that now he must go to the end of it.  Therefore he made Peggy fast, in a place where we could find her, and speaking cheerfully as if there was nothing to be afraid of, he took his staff, and I my gun, to climb the thick ascent.

There was now no path of any kind; which added to our courage all it lessened of our comfort, because it proved that the robbers were not in the habit of passing there.  And we knew that we could not go astray, so long as we breasted the hill before us; inasmuch as it formed the rampart, or side-fence of Glen Doone.  But in truth I used the right word there for the manner of our ascent, for the ground came forth so steep against us, and withal so woody, that to make any way we must throw ourselves forward, and labour as at a breast-plough.  Rough and loamy rungs of oak-root bulged here and there above our heads; briers needs must speak with us, using more of tooth than tongue; and sometimes bulks of rugged stone, like great sheep, stood across us.  At last, though very loath to do it, I was forced to leave my gun behind, because I required one hand to drag myself