The road was the same that George had taken nearly five months before, on his first expedition to Greenway Court. Then it had been at the fall of the leaf, and now it was at the bursting of the spring. Already the live-oaks and poplars were showing a faint and silvery green, and in sheltered, sunny spots grass was sprouting. The watercourses were high from the melting of the snow, and fording them was not always without difficulty and even danger. At every mile that George travelled his mind and heart gained a better balance by quick degrees. He was sorry to be parted from his mother and Betty, but he was at a time of life when he must try his own strength, and he was the better for it. He stopped at the same taverns that he had halted at when with Lord Fairfax. Billy proved himself to be an excellent hostler as well as valet, and George did not mean to forget mentioning to his mother, when he should have an opportunity of sending a letter, how extremely useful Billy was. On the fourth day, being well up in the mountains, they came to Lord Fairfax’s coach-house, as it was called, but instead of stopping George pushed on to Greenway Court, much to Billy’s disgust, who had no taste for long journeys on traveller’s fare. On a March night, that, although cool, had a touch of spring in the air, and under a glorious moon George rode up to the door at Greenway Court, and joyfully dismounted. Lord Fairfax did not know the exact day to expect him, but knew he would arrive about that time. When George’s loud rat-tat resounded upon the great oak doors, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to have them opened by old Lance, who said, as if he had seen George half an hour before: