proved his capacity, and he rather smiled at the repetition of the formula to him, of all men.  A turning to the right was taken, one to the left, and through the churchyard, out of the gate, round to the right, and on.  By this route, after an hour, he found himself passing beneath the bare chestnuts of the churchyard wall of Storling, and the sparkle of the edges of the dead chestnut-leaves at his feet reminded him of the very ideas he had entertained when treading them.  The loss of an hour strung him to pursue the chase in earnest, and he had a beating of the heart as he thought that it might be serious.  He recollected thinking it so at Copsley.  The long ride, and nightfall, with nothing in view, had obscured his mind to the possible behind the thick obstruction of the probable; again the possible waved its marsh-light.  To help in saving her from a fatal step, supposing a dozen combinations of the conditional mood, became his fixed object, since here he was—­of that there was no doubt; and he was not here to play the fool, though the errand were foolish.  He entered the churchyard, crossed the shadow of the tower, and hastened along the path, fancying he beheld a couple of figures vanishing before him.  He shouted; he hoped to obtain directions from these natives:  the moon was bright, the gravestones legible; but no answer came back, and the place appeared to belong entirely to the dead.  ’I’ve frightened them,’ he thought.  They left a queerish sensation in his frame.  A ride down to Sussex to see ghosts would be an odd experience; but an undigested dinner of tea is the very grandmother of ghosts; and he accused it of confusing him, sight and mind.  Out of the gate, now for the turning to the right, and on.  He turned.  He must have previously turned wrongly somewhere—­and where?  A light in a cottage invited him to apply for the needed directions.  The door was opened by a woman, who had never heard tell of The Crossways, nor had her husband, nor any of the children crowding round them.  A voice within ejaculated:  ‘Crassways!’ and soon upon the grating of a chair, an old man, whom the woman named her lodger, by way of introduction, presented himself with his hat on, saying:  ’I knows the spot they calls Crassways,’ and he led.  Redworth understood the intention that a job was to be made of it, and submitting, said:  ’To the right, I think.’  He was bidden to come along, if he wanted ’they Crassways,’ and from the right they turned to the left, and further sharp round, and on to a turn, where the old man, otherwise incommunicative, said:  ‘There, down thik theer road, and a post in the middle.’

‘I want a house, not a post!’ roared Redworth, spying a bare space.

The old man despatched a finger travelling to his nob.  ’Naw, there’s ne’er a house.  But that’s crassways for four roads, if it ’s crassways, you wants.’

They journeyed backward.  They were in such a maze of lanes that the old man was master, and Redworth vowed to be rid of him at the first cottage.  This, however, they were long in reaching, and the old man was promptly through the garden-gate, hailing the people and securing ’information, before Redworth could well hear.  He smiled at the dogged astuteness of a dense-headed old creature determined to establish a claim to his fee.  They struck a lane sharp to the left.