The citizens of Hereford had compounded with Sir William Waller for £3,000, and when the fines had been collected in money or plate nothing remained to detain the soldiers in the place. On the evening of the seventeenth of May, therefore, Waller, hearing that he was needed elsewhere, and unable to spare men to garrison Hereford permanently for the Parliament, gave orders that the troops should be ready to march back to Gloucester early the next morning. By the time Gabriel was free from his duties it was already late, but seeing that lights still burned in Mrs. Unett’s house, he ventured to inquire at the door if she were worse. “In truth, she is very ill, sir,” said Durdle, anxiously. At the head of the stairs, in a nook where she could hear what passed, but could neither see nor be seen, Hilary waited with a beating heart. She was in grievous trouble, and the sound of her lover’s voice tempted her sorely to run down and speak to him. “Give her my kind regards, and I trust she will soon be recovered,” said Gabriel. “’Tis late to knock you up, but I leave Hereford at dawn to-morrow.” Hilary’s heart sank. “Shall I tell Mistress Hilary?” inquired Durdle. “Belike she would come down.” The girl waited in an agony of suspense for his reply. “No, she hath thrice refused to speak with me,” he said, with a note of pain in his voice that brought a lump into her throat. “I will trouble her no further; good-bye, Mrs. Durdle.” Like one struggling for life Hilary wrestled with her pride. “Go down and speak to him,” urged one voice within her. “I can’t before Durdle,” retorted another. “Go, go before it is too late!” “Nay, what could I say if I did go?” And then she learnt that he who hesitates is lost, for the door was closed, and Durdle walked heavily back to the kitchen, and silence reigned again in the house. Hilary sat down on the top stair, and burying her face in her hands, cried much after the fashion of a naughty child, who is half repentant and altogether weary and miserable. Again and again she had refused to see Gabriel, and had taken pleasure in the process; but now he had declined to see her, and she felt that she was indeed hoist with her own petard. After this, with the kindest intentions in the world, Joscelyn Heyworth set about the dangerous process of match-making on his friend’s behalf. Supremely happy in the love of pretty Mistress Clemency Coriton, he no sooner found himself talking alone with her at Mr. Bennett’s house in the Close at Gloucester, than the remembrance of Gabriel Harford’s story came to trouble his peace. “Faith, and I have seen much of little Mistress Helena Locke,” said Clemency. “She hath a dull time at Alderman Pury’s, and is ever glad to come here and chat about her gallant rescuers.” “She had no liking, then, for Colonel Norton, and did not resent being carried off in that summary fashion?”