Count L'Estrange whispered a few words to him, upon which he bowed and retired; and in an instant they were all in the saddle, and galloping away.
The journey was rather a silent one, and what conversation there was, was principally sustained by the count.

Hubert's usual flow of pertinent chat seemed to have forsaken him, and Sir Norman had so many other things to think of--Leoline, Ormiston, Miranda, and the mysterious count himself--that he felt in no mood for talking.

Soon, they left the city behind them; the succeeding two miles were quickly passed over, and the "Golden Crown," all dark and forsaken, now hove in sight.

As they reached this, and cantered up the road leading to the ruin, Sir Norman drew rein, and said: "I think our best plan would be, to dismount, and lead our horses the rest of the way, and not incur any unnecessary danger by making a noise.
We can fasten them to these trees, where they will be at hand when we come out." "Wait one moment," said the count, lifting his finger with a listening look.

"Listen to that!" It was a regular tramp of horses' hoofs, sounding in the silence like a charge of cavalry.