“By Jove! It is nearly three hours since we left the house! How inconsiderate I am! You must be tired to death.” “I did not feel it till you spoke; but I will confess now, to wishing myself nearer home. We had better return as quickly as we can.” “By no means; I could not think of letting you walk back. There must be a village somewhere near here, for I can hear the voices of children. Let me go forward and reconnoiter the neighborhood.” He climbed a bit of rising ground, and returned to say that he had espied a respectable-looking inn at no great distance. There they could doubtless procure a conveyance to carry them back to the bay, where their absence, if it lasted much longer, would cause uneasiness. When they reached the inn they were received by a slatternly, sullen-looking woman, who scarcely vouchsafed a civil reply to Mr. Aylwinne’s questions. “Maybe they could have a chaise--maybe they couldn’t; it was just as her master took in his head.” “Send him here, then,” said the gentleman imperatively. “And show me the way to a room where this lady can rest a while.” Still muttering, but somewhat awed by his manner, she obeyed so far as to push open the door of a sitting room. They then heard her screaming to some one upstairs: “You’re wanted, d’ye hear? Here’s gentry in the parlor, an’ if they wants waiting on you may come and do it! I ain’t going to drudge here while you sits above with your wine and takes your pleasure, I can tell you!” There was a muttered retort, and then a quick footstep; and the next minute a smart, dapper man was bowing and cringing at the door, and, in very oily tones, requesting the “favior of their horders.” “Some wine and biscuits, and a vehicle to convey us to Babbicombe Bay as quickly as it can be got ready,” Mr. Aylwinne replied. “Most certainly, sir. The horse shall be put in the chaise directly. Bless me!” he added, catching a fuller view of Florence’s features. “I beg your parding, I’m sure, but it’s Miss Heriton, ain’t it? I hopes there’s no offense in saying I’m glad to see you so well, miss.” “Who is this fellow?” Mr. Aylwinne demanded, as he bowed himself out to fetch the wine. “Do you not remember him? And yet his is a face not easily forgotten,” Florence replied; and, seeing that he still looked puzzled, she added: “He is the ci-devant servant of Lieutenant Mason.” Mr. Aylwinne hissed an oath between his clenched teeth. “Could I bring you nowhere but to his house? I will go and hasten the harnessing of the horses that we may get away as quickly as possible.” He hurried from the room as he spoke, almost upsetting the landlord in his hurry as he entered with a tray. “The gentleman as took my master’s chambers in the Albany, I believe? Your husband, miss? Excuse me!” Florence, annoyed at this impertinence, turned to the window without replying; but, nothing daunted, he went on: