bow to his prisoner.

"You are a noted horse-doctor, sir," he said. "The off leader has gotten
a colic. Will you treat him? Then I purpose to leave him with a servant
in some near-by farm, and put a ridden horse in his place."

Mr. Lovel leaped from the coach as nimbly as his old wound permitted. It
was true that the doctoring of horses was his hobby. He loved them and
had a way with them.

The medicine box was got out of the locker and the party grouped round
the grey Flemish horses, which stood smoking in the yellow slush. The
one with the colic had its legs stretched wide; its flanks heaved and
spasms shook its hindquarters. Mr. Lovel set to work and mixed which a
dose of spiced oil and spirits which he coaxed down its throat. Then he
very gently massaged certain corded sinews in its belly. "Get him under
cover now, Tony," he said "and tell your man to bed him warm and give
him a bucket of hot water strained from oatmeal and laced with this
phial. In an hour he will be easy."

The beast was led off, another put in its place, and the postilions were
cracking their whips, when out of the darkness a knot of mounted men
rode into the lamplight. There were at least a dozen of them, and at
their head rode a man who at the sight of Lovel pulled up sharp.

"Mr. Lovel!" he cried. "What brings you into these wilds in such
weather? Can I be of service? My house is not a mile off."

"I thank you, Colonel Flowerdue, but I think the mischief is now
righted. I go on a journey into Oxfordshire with my daughter, and the
snow has delayed us."

He presented the young Parliament soldier, a cousin of Fairfax, to
Cecily and Tony, the latter of whom eyed with disfavour the posse of
grave Ironside troopers.

"You will never get to Wendover this night," said Flowerdue. "The road
higher up is smothered four feet deep. See, I will show you a woodland
road which the wind has kept clear, and I protest that your company
sleep the night with me at Downing."

He would take no denial, and indeed in the face of his news to proceed
would have been folly. Even Sir Anthony Colledge confessed it wryly. One
of Flowerdue's men mounted to the postilion's place, and the coach was
guided through a belt of beeches, and over a strip of heath to the gates
of a park.

Cecily seized her father's hand. "You have promised, remember."

"I have promised," he replied. "To-morrow, if the weather clears, I will
go with you to Chastlecote."

He spoke no m