though I caught her, partly
breaking her fall, I knew that she was hurt. I helped her to her feet,
and she said breathlessly:--

"I'm all right. I'm not hurt."

But when we started toward the coach, she clung to me, limping, and
began to cry from pain. When I saw that she was hurt, I caught her up
in my arms and carried her to the coach, followed by the driver, bearing
the reins and Betty's hood, cloak, gloves, and boots. Frances was already
inside the coach, and George was about to follow her, when I came up with
poor helpless Betty, and somewhat angrily ordered him to stand aside
while I made her comfortable. Frances began to soothe Betty, whose tears
flowed afresh under the sympathy. By the time George and I were in the
coach, the drivers were on the box, but before we started one of them
lifted the curtain and said:--

"I hear them moving in the house."

"Make the more haste," I answered.

"Shan't we stay for a fight, sir?" asked the driver, evidently
disappointed.

"We'll have it later on," said George, and the next moment the coach was
turned and we were on our homeward road.

When we reached the Oxford Road, the horses started at a smart gallop,
and we began to hope that we had not been discovered by the inmates of
Merlin House. But soon we heard horses galloping behind us. After a
consultation, George and I concluded to stop the coach. Frances and Betty
were much alarmed, and begged us to try to escape by whipping the horses.
But I knew that our pursuers, being on horseback, would soon overtake us,
and I was convinced that nothing could be gained by attempting flight. I
have seen a small dog stop a larger one by waiting for it.

So we waited, and when our pursuers, a half score of men on horseback,
came up to us, we met them with a fusillade of powder and shot, which
persuaded them to allow us to go our way and evidently made them content
to go theirs, for we saw nothing more of them.

On the way to London, Frances told us briefly the story of the day. She
had started to her father's house and had left the river at Baynard's
Castle stairs. It was near one o'clock when she left her boat, and the
snow, which had been falling for an hour or more, covered the ground.
When she reached the head of the narrow street leading to Upper Thames
Street from the river stairs, she found a coach waiting for her. The
driver touched his hat and asked if she was Mistress Jennings. When she
answered that she was, he sai