"Beg pardon, sir," Harry chimed in, "Master Dick and I are going London way, and it willn't be much out of our road, if we come with you as far as Shelwick--that's the next stage, sir. I can ride post, if you'll take Master Dick in the chay? I know the road well."
Harry's most unexpected suggestion took me fairly aback, and annoyed me not a little; but I did not like to offer any objection, so held my tongue. Major Warrington, too, was evidently surprised at the proposal, and looked inquiringly first at me and then at Harry.
"That will suit me admirably, Mr. Wilmot," he said, after an awkward pause. "It will be a pleasure to have your company as far as Shelwick; or farther, if our roads lie together. What say you?"
"I am willing, Major Warrington," I replied in a half-hearted manner; but seeing that he appeared hurt at my reluctant assent, I added, "Indeed I shall be very glad to accompany you."
"Then we'll be off at once," he rejoined. "Jump up, my lad."
"One moment, your honour," said Harry. "Master Dick, will you put the shoe on? We shall want it going down the hill." And as I went round the chaise to fix the drag-shoe, he whispered, "Tell the gentleman everything, sir. I'm sure he'll give you good advice, and maybe help us."
"Drive on," said Major Warrington, stepping into the chaise and seating himself beside me. "Twenty past one"--looking at his watch--"have you any idea how far we are from Shelwick?"
"Nearly six miles from the posting-house, which is some little distance beyond the village," I answered.
"Well, I hope they'll be able to give me four posters," the major said. "I could only get a pair at the last stage."
"Have you come far to-night, sir?" I inquired.
"From Bingley, Mr. Wilmot. I have been staying with my brother-in-law, Lord Buckland, at Buckland Court. My servant started with the baggage for Northfleet on Monday, but urgent business detained me until this, or rather last evening. By the way, do you know Colonel Gascoigne of Bingley Manor? I ask because there is a Mr. Wilmot, a clergyman, staying at the Manor; probably you are related to him?"
This was indeed a home question! What should I say? Should I follow Harry Symes's advice, and make a clean breast of everything to the major? I hesitated; then--for I could not bring myself to deny my father--I said, almost in a whisper, "I am Mr. Wilmot's son." And, unable to control my emotion, I burst into tears.