Castle-building – Despairing beside a clear stream – A gipsy lunch – Wilton’s mountain flight – Marriage and no marriage – Proposed wedding at Rydal Water.

The gipsy man, whose name I understood to be Marshall, was still at the encampment, though he was preparing to follow the rest to the town. When I told him of my escape, he judged that I should be safest, as Wilton had mentioned, at some distance from their establishment, which might be searched if I had been pursued in that direction. I accordingly got into the channel of the brook, and proceeded upwards over the gravel about a quarter of a mile or more, at which point I found several parts of the bank undermined by the water, and formed into a sort of over-hanging arch of green sod. The brow I made choice of was surmounted by an old willow tree, grey with moss, and ready to fall across the brook, which had washed away the soil from its roots, and left a space well adapted for temporary concealment.