On his ride to Lord Fairholm's rendezvous, he wondered much what
could be the nature of the adventure in which they were about to
embark. He knew that both his friends were full of life and high
spirits, and his thoughts wandered between some wild attempt to
carry off a French officer of importance, or an expedition to
rescue a lovely damsel in distress. Hugh, equally wondering, but
still more ignorant of the nature of the expedition, rode quietly
on behind.
The road was an unfrequented one, and during the last two miles'
ride they did not meet a single person upon it. The hamlet of
Dettinheim contained four or five houses only, and no one seemed
about. Another five minutes' riding took them to the entrance to
the little valley in which the mill stood. They rode up to it, and
then dismounted.
"It's a lonesome dismal-looking place, Master Rupert. It doesn't
seem to bode good. Of course you know what you're come for, sir;
but I don't like the look of the place, nohow."
"It does not look cheerful, Hugh; but I am to meet Lord Fairholm
and Sir John Loveday here."
"I don't see any sign of them, Master Rupert. I'd be careful if I
were you, for it's just the sort of place for a foul deed to be
done in. It does not look safe."
"It looks old and haunted," Rupert said; "but as that is its
natural look, I don't see it can help it. The door is open, so my
friends are here."
"Look out, Master Rupert; you may be running into a snare.
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