et in and one
of the gentlemen escorted the ladies home, while three of us remained
to prowl about the woods and roads all night in a soaking drizzle. The
task was tiresome enough for me, as it lacked motive; and when we rode
into Berkeley Castle next day, a sorrier set of bedraggled,
rain-stained, mud-covered knights you never saw. You may know the
castle was wild with excitement. There were all sorts of conjectures,
but soon we unanimously concluded it had been the work of highwaymen,
of whom the country was full, and by whom the princess had certainly
been abducted.

The chaperons forgot their gout and each other, and Jane, who was the
most affected of all, had a genuine excuse for giving vent to her
grief and went to bed--by far the safest place for her.

What was to be done? First we sent a message to the king, who would
probably have us all flayed alive--a fear which the chaperons shared
to the fullest extent. Next, an armed party rode back to look again
for Mary, and, if possible, rescue her.

The fact that I had been out the entire night before, together with
the small repute in which I was held for deeds of arms, excused me
from taking part in this bootless errand, so again I profited by the
small esteem in which I was held. I say I profited, for I stayed at
the castle with Jane, hoping to find my opportunity in the absence of
everybody else. All the ladies but Jane had ridden out, and the
knights who had been with me scouring the forest were sleeping, since
they had not my incentive to remain awake. They had no message to
deliver; no duty to perform for an absent friend. A thousand! Only
think of it! I wished it had been a million, and so faithful was I to
my trust that I swore in my soul I would deliver them, every one.

And Jane loved me! No more walking on the hard, prosaic earth now;
from this time forth I would fly; that was the only sensible method of
locomotion. Mary had said: "She told me so." Could it really be true?
You will at once see what an advantage this bit of information was to
me.

I hoped that Jane would wish to see me to talk over Mary's escape--so
I sent word to her that I was waiting, and she quickly enough
recovered her health and came down. I suggested that we walk out to a
secluded little summer-house by the river, and Jane was willing. Ah!
my opportunity was here at last.

She found her bonnet, and out we went. What an enchanting walk was
that, and how rich is a man who has la