From the talk of uncle and niece she learned that Talgwynne fair would take place next day and that both were going to it. That should be her chance. She would profess herself too tired to accompany them, should they invite her to do so, and as soon as they should be safely gone she would make her venture. She had never been in the little town, but her country eye knew the points of the compass and the direction in which the river Wye ran. She would trust to luck and to what sagacity she had in finding her way. Talgwynne lay high, and if she followed the fall of the ground, with her face towards the river, which she had seen daily from Pencoed, she would find her bearings and be able, when she reached the Brecon high road, to ask her way to the bridge at Losbury village, over which she would get into Radnorshire. The day passed slowly and she went early to her mattress in the little room. That prison should not contain her much longer. The fair was in full swing next morning as she closed the door behind her and hurried along the by-street. The whole world had been drawn as one man to the centre of attraction, and she scarcely met a living creature until she was far into the country. She knew her direction well, once she was out of Talgwynne, for the Black Mountain was a landmark by which it was easy to guide herself. She could see the identical smooth stretch on which she had galloped with Heber Moorhouse, and she was soon in a lane which she felt sure must bring her down upon the high road. Stiff and weary as she still was, she pressed on with no goal but Losbury bridge and nothing but chance as a friend. Chance only stood between her and destitution. She plodded on for some time, knowing that she could not long keep to the beaten tracks and remain unseen; soon the dispersing fair would pour men, women and animals along every road and lane. The sound of some one following her on horseback made Catherine's heart jump into her mouth. She rushed on and climbed over a gate, which was fortunately only a few paces in front, and concealed herself behind the hedge, crouching and peering between the leaves like some frightened animal. She held her breath as Charles Saunders rode past her hiding-place at the hurrying nondescript pace of one whose prudence forbids him to trot downhill while his feelings will not allow him to walk.