d aslant in that attitude of patient listening.

"Didst hear aught, sweetheart? A horse galloping?"

"Nay indeed!" voice muffled in her cloak.

"Good!" Hereupon Mr. Dalroyd entered into a full and particular
account of his own virtues as a lover, though more than once he paused
in the recital to glance over his shoulder and to listen.

"Indeed, sweet Bet, 'tis as well you are set on Paris henceforth for
'tis necessary I should quit England for awhile. I had the misfortune
to offend a gentleman some months since and last week the thoughtless
fellow was so mistaken as to die--hence I must to France awhile--but
with thee 'twill be a very paradise." Here Mr. Dalroyd reached out to
touch his companion's hand but in the act of doing so, paused and
glanced over his shoulder and immediately proceeded to change the
pistols in his holsters.

"'Twas folly in my lord your brother to choose a different route, Bet,
I have post-horses waiting all along the road and a lugger waiting in a
certain snug cove. If he should be behind----"

"We must wait!" said my lady.

"Wait--aye Bet, we'll wait a reasonable while, though 'tis torment to
an eager lover. To-morrow morning we should reach Boulogne and in
Boulogne you shall wed me and----"

My lady turned and scanned the long road behind.

"Ha--d'ye hear hoofs, Bet--a horseman?" My lady shook her head, but
now Mr. Dalroyd grew silent and rode alert and watchful.

So they rode, staying only to change horses and on again; even when
they paused for refreshment, Mr. Dalroyd spoke little except to urge
haste and often would cross to door or window and stand there, head
aslant, listening.

It was after they had changed horses for the last time that Mr. Dalroyd
lifted his head suddenly and glared back over his shoulder as, faint
and far, but plain to hear, came the rhythmic throb of galloping hoofs.

"Ha!" he exclaimed in a long-drawn breath. "Dost hear aught, Bet?"

"One gallops behind us!" said my lady faintly.

"Art wearied, sweetheart?"

"Nay--not very."

"Then ride--spur!"

"Nay, 'tis Charles--my brother, perchance."

"'Tis not your brother!"

"How can you tell?"

"I know!" said he grimly and lifted his holster-flap. Thus, mile after
mile they rode with never a word between them, yet, despite their
speed, faint and far behind was that rhythmic beat of pursuing hoofs,
now lost, now heard again, faint but persistent, never any nearer yet
never any further off.