"
Tristram was feeling too faint to contest this, though it appeared to
him to be disputable.
"Let us get ahead of this mob," his father went on. "Come, use your
best foot--it's no great distance."
He struck off the sodden track and dived into the mist, Tristram
following close at his heels. Their way lay over hillocks and
hollows of sand in which they sank ankle-deep at every step.
In two minutes they lost sight of the regiment, and were walking with
their faces set, as it seemed, towards a wall of grey atmosphere,
impenetrable by the eye. After five minutes of this Tristram
groaned. He had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours, and his limbs
were weak as water.
"Courage, my son! A few paces more."
Almost as he spoke a building loomed out of the mist, and they found
themselves before a doorway, over which hung the sign of "The Four
Seasons." A sentry, who stood beside the entrance, presented arms
and let them pass. Captain Salt led the way indoors and up a rickety
staircase to the right, on the first landing of which they found two
pages in waiting.
"Say that Captain Salt desires to see his Majesty."
One of the pages tapped at the door, and, having delivered the
message, commanded them to enter. The place in which Tristram now
found himself was a low-browed room, smelling highly of sawdust and
stale tobacco.
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