ut that before Cynthia had gone six miles along the road
to Denham, one of her attendants caught a rapid beat of hoofs behind
them, and drew her attention to it, suggesting that they were being
followed. Faster Cynthia bade them travel, but the pursuer gained
upon them at every stride. Again the man drew her attention to it, and
proposed that they should halt and face him who followed. The possession
of the musketoon gave him confidence touching the issue. But Cynthia
shuddered at the thought, and again, with promises of rich reward, urged
them to go faster. Another mile they went, but every moment brought the
pursuing hoof-beats nearer and nearer, until at last a hoarse challenge
rang out behind them, and they knew that to go farther would be vain;
within the next half-mile, ride as they might, their pursuer would be
upon them.

The night was moonless, yet sufficiently clear for objects to be
perceived against the sky, and presently the black shadow of him who
rode behind loomed up upon the road, not a hundred paces off.

Despite Cynthia's orders not to fire, he of the musketoon raised his
weapon under cover of the darkness and blazed at the approaching shadow.

Cynthia cried out--a shriek of dismay it was; the horses plunged, and
Sir Crispin laughed aloud as he bore down upon them. He of the musketoon
heard the swish of a sword being drawn, and saw the glitter of the blade
in the dark. A second later there was a shock as Crispin's horse dashed
into his, and a crushing blow across the forehead, which Galliard
delivered with the hilt of his rapier, sent him hurtling from the
saddle. His comrade clapped spurs to his horse at that and was running a
race with the night wind in the direction of Denham.

Before Cynthia quite knew what had happened the seat on the pillion in
front of her was empty, and she was riding back to Stafford with Crispin
beside her, his hand upon the bridle of her horse.

"You little fool!" he said half-angrily, half-gibingly; and thereafter
they rode in silence--she too mortified with shame and anger to venture
upon words.

That journey back to Stafford was a speedy one, and soon they stood
again in the inn-yard out of which she had ridden but an hour ago.
Avoiding the common room, Crispin ushered her through the side door by
which she had quitted the house. The landlord met them in the passage,
and looking at Crispin's face the pallor and fierceness of it drove him
back without a word.

Tog