I wasted no time in the vicinity of the inn. I decided that an
interval spent in some remote place would be consistent with the
behaviour of a gentleman.

But the agitations of the day were not yet closed for me. Suddenly I
came upon a small, slow-moving, and solemn company of men, who carried
among them some kind of a pallet, and on this pallet was the body of
Forister. I gazed upon his ghastly face; I saw the large blood
blotches on his shirt; as they drew nearer I saw him roll his eyes and
heard him groan. Some of the men recognized me, and I saw black looks
and straight-pointing fingers. At the rear walked Lord Strepp with
Forister's sword under his arm. I turned away with a new impression of
the pastime of duelling. Forister's pallor, the show of bloody cloth,
his groan, the dark stares of men, made me see my victory in a
different way, and I even wondered if it had been absolutely necessary
to work this mischief upon a fellow-being.

I spent most of the day down among the low taverns of the sailors,
striving to interest myself in a thousand new sights brought by the
ships from foreign parts.

But ever my mind returned to Lady Mary, and to my misfortune in being
pursued around chairs and tables by my angel's mother. I had also
managed to have a bitter quarrel with the noble father of this lovely
creature. It was hardly possible that I could be joyous over my
prospects.

At noon I returned to the inn, approaching with some display of
caution. As I neared it, a carriage followed by some horsemen whirled
speedily from the door. I knew at once that Lady Mary had been taken
from me. She was gone with her father and mother back to London. I
recognized Lord Strepp and Colonel Royale among the horsemen.

I walked through the inn to the garden, and looked at the parrot. My
senses were all numb. I stared at the bird as it rolled its wicked eye
at me.

"Pretty lady! Pretty lady!" it called in coarse mockery.

"Plague the bird!" I muttered, as I turned upon my heel and entered
the inn.

"My bill," said I. "A horse for Bath!" said I.

Again I rode forth on a quest. The first had been after my papers. The
second was after my love. The second was the hopeless one, and,
overcome by melancholy, I did not even spur my horse swiftly on my
mission. There was upon me the deep-rooted sadness which balances the
mirth of my people,--the Celtic aptitude for discouragement; and even
the keening of old women in the red glow