Even so, he would not allow himself to dwell on the worst. He had formed

his opinion of the abduction; if it proved correct he believed that he

should be in time to save her from that. But from the misery of

suspense, of fear, of humiliation, from the touch of rough hands and the

shame of coarse eyes, from these things--and alone they kindled his

blood into flame--he was powerless to save her!

Lady Dunborough could no longer have accused him of airs and graces.

Breeding, habit, the custom of the gaming-table, the pride of caste

availed to mask his passions under a veil of reserve, but were powerless

to quell them. What was more remarkable, so set was he on the one object

of recovering his mistress and putting an end to the state of terror in

which he pictured her--ignorant what her fate would be, and dreading the

worst--he gave hardly a thought to the astounding discovery which the

lawyer had made to him. He asked him no questions, turned to him for no

explanations. Those might come later; for the moment he thought not of

his cousin, but of his mistress. The smiles that had brightened the dull

passages of the inn, the figure that had glorified the quiet streets,

the eyes that had now invited and now repelled him, these were become so

many sharp thorns in his heart, so many goads urging him onward.

It was nine when they saw the lights of Calne below them, and trotting

and stumbling down the hill, clattered eagerly into the town. A moment's

delay in front of the inn, where their questions speedily gathered a

crowd, and they had news of the chaise: it had passed through the town

two hours before without changing horses. The canvas blinds were down or

there were shutters; which, the ostler who gave them the information,

could not say. But the fact that the carriage was closed had struck him,

and together with the omission to take fresh horses, had awakened his

suspicions.

By the time this was told a dozen were round them, listening

open-mouthed; and cheered by the lights and company Mr. Fishwick grew

brave again. But Sir George allowed no respite: in five minutes they

were clear of the houses and riding hard for Chippenham, the next stage

on the Bristol road; Sir George's horse cantering free, the lawyer's

groaning as it bumped across Studley bridge and its rider caught the

pale gleam of the water below. On through the village they swept, past

Brumhill Lane-end, thence over the crest where the road branches south

to Devizes, and down the last slope. The moon rose as they passed the

fourth milestone out of Calne; another five minutes and they drew up,

the horses panting and hanging their heads, in the main street of

Chippenham.




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