They left their line of route to be communicated to the chariot, and chose, with practised acumen, that very course, which was the main road, and rewarded them at the end of half an hour with sight of the Steignton phaeton.
But it was returning.

A nearer view showed it empty of the couple.
Morsfield bade the coachman pull up, and he was readily obeyed.

Answers came briskly.
Although provincial acting is not of the high class which conceals the art, this man's look beside him and behind him at vacant seats had incontestable evidence in support of his declaration, that the lady and gentleman had gone on by themselves: the phaeton was a box of flown birds.
'Where did you say they got out, you dog ?' said Cumnock.
The coachman stood up to spy a point below.

'Down there at the bottom of the road, to the right, where there's a stile across the meadows, making a short cut by way of a bridge over the river to Busley and North Tothill, on the high-road to Hocklebourne.

The lady and gentleman thought they 'd walk for a bit of exercise the remains of the journey.' 'Can't prove the rascal's a liar,' Cumnock said to Morsfield, who rallied him savagely on his lucky escape from another knock-down blow, and tossed silver on the seat, and said-- 'We 'll see if there is a stile.' 'You'll see the stile, sir,' rejoined the man, and winked at their backs.
Both cavaliers, being famished besides baffled, were in sour tempers, expecting to see just the dead wooden stile, and see it as a grin at them.