They led the
horse with them for some distance, then tied him to a gate, a little
out of sight, and went on to the hut, which stood, built of the
shingle of the beach, just beyond the highest reach of the tide, with
the boat beside it, and the nets spread out to dry.
Before there was time to knock, the door was opened by Harry Fletcher
himself, his open sunburnt face showing honesty and good faith in
every feature. He put his hand respectfully to his woollen cap, and
said, with a sort of smile, as he looked at Edmund, "I see what work
you have for me, your reverence."
"You are right, Harry," said Dr. Bathurst; "this is one of the
gentlemen that fought for his Majesty at Worcester, and if we cannot
get him safe out of the country, with heaven's blessing, he is as
good as a dead man."
"Come in, sir," said Fletcher, "you had best not be seen. There's no
one here but little Dick, and I'll answer for him."
They came in, and Dr. Bathurst explained Edmund's circumstances. The
honest fellow looked a little perplexed, but after a moment said,
"Well, I'll do what in me lies, sir; but 'tis a long way across."
"I should tell you, my good man," said Edmund, "that I have nothing
to repay you with for all the trouble and danger to which you may be
exposing yourself on my behalf. Nothing but my horse, which would
only be bringing suspicion on you.
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