"I promised her," he began.

"What care I for your promises?" she asked. "I will tell him, so that he may yet go after her and bring her back."

"You shall not," he insisted, gripping her more closely. But at that moment a delicately mocking voice greeted their ears.

"Marry, 'tis vastly diverting to hear you," it said. They looked round, to find one of the party of town sparks that had halted at the inn standing arms akimbo in the narrow pa.s.sage, clearly waiting for them to make room. "A touching sight, sir," said he sardonically to the landlord. "A wondrous touching sight to behold a man of your years playing the turtle-dove to his good wife like the merest fledgeling.

It grieves me to intrude myself so harshly upon your cooing, though if you'll but let me pa.s.s you may resume your chaste embrace without uneasiness, for I give you my word I'll never look behind me."

Abashed, the landlord and his dame fell apart. Then, ere the gentleman could pa.s.s her, Mistress Quinn, like a true opportunist, sped swiftly down the pa.s.sage and into the common room before her husband could again detain her.

Now, within the common room of the Suffolk Arms Sir Crispin sat face to face with a very pretty fellow, all musk and ribbons, and surrounded by some half-dozen gentlemen on their way to London who had halted to rest at Stafford.

The pretty gentleman swore l.u.s.tily, affected a monstrous wicked look, a.s.sured that he was impressing all who stood about with some conceit of the rakeh.e.l.ly ways he pursued in town.

A game started with crowns to while away the tedium of the enforced sojourn at the inn had grown to monstrous proportions. Fortune had favoured the youth at first, but as the stakes grew her favours to him diminished, and at the moment that Cynthia rode out of the inn-yard, Mr.

Harry Foster flung his last gold piece with an oath upon the table.

"Rat me," he groaned, "there's the end of a hundred."

He toyed sorrowfully with the red ribbon in his black hair, and Crispin, seeing that no fresh stake was forthcoming, made shift to rise. But the c.o.xcomb detained him.

"Tarry, sir," he cried, "I've not yet done. 'Slife, we'll make a night of it."

He drew a ring from his finger, and with a superb gesture of disdain pushed it across the board.

"What'll ye stake?" And, in the same breath, "Boy, another stoup," he cried.

Crispin eyed the gem carelessly.

"Twenty Caroluses," he muttered.

"Rat me, sir, that nose of yours proclaims you a jew, without more. Say twenty-five, and I'll cast."

With a tolerant smile, and the shrug of a man to whom twenty-five or a hundred are of like account, Crispin consented. They threw; Crispin pa.s.sed and won.

"What'll ye stake?" cried Mr. Foster, and a second ring followed the first.

Before Crispin could reply, the door leading to the interior of the inn was flung open, and Mrs. Quinn, breathless with exertion and excitement, came scurrying across the room. In the doorway stood the host in hesitancy and fear. Bending to Crispin's ear, Mrs. Quinn delivered her message in a whisper that was heard by most of those who were about.

"Gone!" cried Crispin in consternation.

The woman pointed to her husband, and Crispin, understanding from this that she referred him to the host, called to him.

"What know you, landlord?" he shouted. "Come hither, and tell me whither is she gone!"

"I know not," replied the quaking host, adding the particulars of Cynthia's departure, and the information that the lady seemed in great anger.

"Saddle me a horse," cried Crispin, leaping to his feet, and pitching Mr. Foster's trinket upon the table as though it were a thing of no value. "Towards Denham you say they rode? Quick, man!" And as the host departed he swept the gold and the ring he had won into his pockets preparing to depart.

"Hoity toity!" cried Mr. Foster. "What sudden haste is this?"

"I am sorry, sir, that Fortune has been unkind to you, but I must go.

Circ.u.mstances have arisen which--"

"D--n your circ.u.mstances!" roared Foster, get ting on his feet. "You'll not leave me thus!"

"With your permission, sir, I will."

"But you shall not have my permission!"

"Then I shall be so unfortunate as to go without it. But I shall return."

"Sir, 'tis an old legend, that!"

Crispin turned about in despair. To be embroiled now might ruin everything, and by a miracle he kept his temper. He had a moment to spare while his horse was being saddled.

"Sir," he said, "if you have upon your pretty person trinkets to half the value of what I have won from you, I'll stake the whole against them on one throw, after which, no matter what the result, I take my departure. Are you agreed?"

There was a murmur of admiration from those present at the recklessness and the generosity of the proposal, and Foster was forced to accept it.

Two more rings he drew forth, a diamond from the ruffles at his throat, and a pearl that he wore in his ear. The lot he set upon the board, and Crispin threw the winning cast as the host entered to say that his horse was ready.

He gathered the trinkets up, and with a polite word of regret he was gone, leaving Mr. Harry Foster to meditate upon the pledging of one of his horses to the landlord in discharge of his lodging.

And so it fell out 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 hoa.r.s.e 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 pa.s.sage, and looking at Crispin's face the pallor and fierceness of it drove him back without a word.

Together they ascended to the chamber where in solitude she had spent the day. Her feelings were those of a child caught in an act of disobedience, and she was angry with herself and her weakness that it should be so. Yet within the room she stood with bent head, never glancing at her companion, in whose eyes there was a look of blended anger and amazement as he observed her. At length in calm, level tones:

"Why did you run away?" he asked.

The question was to her anger as a gust of wind to a smouldering fire.

She threw back her head defiantly, and fixed him with a glance as fierce as his own.

"I will tell you," she cried, and suddenly stopped short. The fire died from her eyes, and they grew wide in wonder--in fascinated wonder--to see a deep stain overspreading one side of his grey doublet, from the left shoulder downwards. Her wonder turned to horror as she realized the nature of that stain and remembered that one of her men had fired upon him.

"You are wounded?" she faltered.