‘I’ve lost my way, that’s all.’

‘’Twould ha’ been enough, too, I’m thinkin’, if I hadn’t come out after t’ ewes.  There’s t’ Three Griffins near at hand:  a sup o’ Hollands ‘ll set thee to reeghts.’

Philip followed faintly.  He could not see before him, and was guided by the sound of footsteps rather than by the sight of the figure moving onwards.  He kept stumbling; and he knew that the old shepherd swore at him; but he also knew such curses proceeded from no ill-will, only from annoyance at the delay in going and ‘seem’ after t’ ewes.’  But had the man’s words conveyed the utmost expression of hatred, Philip would neither have wondered at them, nor resented them.

They came into a wild mountain road, unfenced from the fells.  A hundred yards off, and there was a small public-house, with a broad ruddy oblong of firelight shining across the tract.

‘Theere!’ said the old man.  ’Thee cannot well miss that.  A dunno tho’, thee bees sich a gawby.’

So he went on, and delivered Philip safely up to the landlord.

‘Here’s a felly as a fund on t’ fell side, just as one as if he were drunk; but he’s sober enough, a reckon, only summat’s wrong i’ his head, a’m thinkin’.’

‘No!’ said Philip, sitting down on the first chair he came to.  ’I’m right enough; just fairly wearied out:  lost my way,’ and he fainted.

There was a recruiting sergeant of marines sitting in the house-place, drinking.  He, too, like Philip, had lost his way; but was turning his blunder to account by telling all manner of wonderful stories to two or three rustics who had come in ready to drink on any pretence; especially if they could get good liquor without paying for it.

The sergeant rose as Philip fell back, and brought up his own mug of beer, into which a noggin of gin had been put (called in Yorkshire ’dog’s-nose’).  He partly poured and partly spilt some of this beverage on Philip’s face; some drops went through the pale and parted lips, and with a start the worn-out man revived.

‘Bring him some victual, landlord,’ called out the recruiting sergeant.  ‘I’ll stand shot.’

They brought some cold bacon and coarse oat-cake.  The sergeant asked for pepper and salt; minced the food fine and made it savoury, and kept administering it by teaspoonfuls; urging Philip to drink from time to time from his own cup of dog’s-nose.

A burning thirst, which needed no stimulant from either pepper or salt, took possession of Philip, and he drank freely, scarcely recognizing what he drank.  It took effect on one so habitually sober; and he was soon in that state when the imagination works wildly and freely.

He saw the sergeant before him, handsome, and bright, and active, in his gay red uniform, without a care, as it seemed to Philip, taking life lightly; admired and respected everywhere because of his cloth.

If Philip were gay, and brisk, well-dressed like him, returning with martial glory to Monkshaven, would not Sylvia love him once more?  Could not he win her heart?  He was brave by nature, and the prospect of danger did not daunt him, if ever it presented itself to his imagination.