noon
As he rode on , leaving the scattered buildings of the town far behind , mounting the hills and then striking the turnpike -- every rod of which he could have found in the dark -- his thoughts , like road-swallows , skimmed each mile he covered . Here was where he had stopped with Kate when her stirrup broke ; near the branches of that oak close to the ditch marking the triangle of cross-roads he had saved his own and Spitfire 's neck by a clear jump that had been the talk of the neighborhood for days . On the crest of this hill -- the one he was then ascending -- his father always tightened up the brakes on his four-in-hand , and on the slope beyond invariably braced himself in his seat , swung his whip , and the flattened team swept on and down , leaving a cloud of dust in its wake that blurred the road for minutes thereafter . When noon came he dismounted at a farmer 's out-building beside the road -- he would not trust the public-houses -- fed and watered his horse , rubbed him down himself , and after an hour 's rest pushed on toward the fork in the road to Moorlands . Beyond this was a cross-path that led to the outbarns and farm stables -- a path bordered by thick bushes and which skirted a fence in the rear of the manor house itself . Here he intended to tie his steed and there he would mount him again should his mission fail . The dull winter sky had already heralded the dusk -- it was near four o'clock in the afternoon -- when he passed some hayricks where a group of negroes were at work .