uld do, then, but I dared not go dusty, dishevelled,
travel-stained as I was. So I got off my horse, and washed myself in a
streamlet that trickled beside the road. Then I picked up a wisp of
straw and rubbed down the mare. It was but little I could do for her,
but I wiped the foam from her, and made her look less conspicuous than
she had been before. This done, I mounted again and rode direct to the
Hall.

How my heart thumped as I neared the stately old mansion, and how I
hoped and prayed that I might be successful in my mission! I thought
not of myself now. My one thought was to save Ruth, and to save
Wilfred.

Daylight had begun to fade as I rode up to the Hall door. A stable boy
had seen and followed me. Without a moment's hesitation I flung myself
from the faithful creature who had borne me so gallantly over those
long weary miles.

"Take this mare, rub her down well, feed her well, and wrap her up
warmly. And, stay--don't give her too much water."

He looked at me in astonishment, then a look of recognition came into
his face. Evidently he had seen me before, for he grinned and touched
his cap as he said, "I'll zee to 'er proper, sur."

I would have followed him and made sure that he did as I commanded;
for, brought up among horses as I had been, I had learnt to care for
them, and to see them properly provided for, but now, other matters
were more pressing. So I threw him a crown piece, and hurried to the
door.

Again the bell clanged through the old hall, again I stood with beating
heart waiting for the answer, for now I was nearing the great crisis of
my life--at least, it seemed so to me then.

The old servant I had seen a year before met me, and despite the dim
light recognised me in a second--joyfully, I thought.

"Mr. Trewinion, sir," he said, quickly, "walk in."

Again I entered the house and with a fast beating heart.

"Is your mistress at home?" I said, hastily.

He looked up at me anxiously, I thought.

"Yes, sir," he replied, "she is at home; that is, sir, she is not at
home now, but we expect her home every minute."

"Has she been far away?"

"No, sir; oh, no, she's only gone to the village."

"Do you know why?"

"Why, sir!" he said, looking at me strangely. "She's not gone into the
village exactly, but to a little cottage just outside. You see, sir,
she's mighty good to the poor, and she do visit 'em and carry things to
'em."

"Do you know the one she's gone to vis