ht be
warranted to ride twenty miles without speaking. 'Here, take mine, sir,'
he said. 'I must stop to get a lanthorn; we shall need one now. Do you
go with his honour.'

Mr. Fishwick slid down and was hoisted into the other's saddle. By the
time this was done Sir George was almost lost in the gloom eat the
farther end of the street. But anything rather than be left behind. The
lawyer laid on his whip in a way that would have astonished him a few
hours before, and overtook his leader as he emerged from the town. They
rode without speaking until they had retraced their steps to the foot of
the hill, and could discern a little higher on the ascent the turn
for Devizes.

It is possible that Sir George hoped to find the chaise still lurking in
the shelter of the hedge; for as he rode up to the corner he drew a
pistol from his holster, and took his horse by the head. If so, he was
disappointed. The moon had risen high and its cold light disclosed the
whole width of the roadway, leaving no place in which even a dog could
lie hidden. Nor as far as the eye could travel along the pale strip of
road that ran southward was any movement or sign of life.

Sir George dropped from his saddle, and stooping, sought for proof of
the toper's story. He had no difficulty in finding it. There were the
deep narrow ruts which the wheels of a chaise, long stationary, had made
in the turf at the side of the road; and south of them was a plat of
poached ground where the horses had stood and shifted their feet
uneasily. He walked forward, and by the moonlight traced the dusty
indents of the wheels until they exchanged the sward for the hard road.
There they were lost in other tracks, but the inference was plain. The
chaise had gone south to Devizes.

For the first time Sir George felt the full horror of uncertainty. He
climbed into his saddle and sat looking across the waste with eyes of
misery, asking himself whither and for what? Whither had they taken her,
and why? The Bristol road once left, his theory was at fault; he had no
clue, and felt, where time was life and more than life, the slough of
horrible conjecture rise to his very lips.

Only one thing, one certain thing remained--the road; the pale ribbon
running southward under the stars. He must cling to that. The chaise had
gone that way, and though the double might be no more than a trick to
throw pursuers off the trail, though the first dark lane, the first
roadside tavern, the fi