And then having planned her course fully and carefully, woman-like she began to cry tempestuously at the position in which she found herself; blaming with equally unreasoning impatience the band, Richard, and her horse for her predicament. If she were only a Whig, doing this thing for her country, or else if she were but in love with Richard, how beautiful, how romantic, it would all be! But--but-- And even after she was in bed, she went on sobbing softly to herself. CHAPTER XXIII. IN TARLETON'S TOILS. "The brave man is not he who feels no fear, For that were stupid and irrational; But he whose noble soul its fear subdues, And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from." --JOANNA BAILLIE. After a troubled sleep that brought little rest, Joscelyn opened her eyes on what she supposed would be a day of danger,--certainly a day of small deceptions. But in one way fortune favoured her; the morning was cold and raw, with now and then a flurry of snow, so she would have no occasion to leave the house, and need worry over no excuse for biding at home. But the early hours were full of quavers and starts; the least quick noise sent her blood racing through its channels. Her first real fright came when the guard in the back yard discovered bits of fresh mud upon the trellis of the porch. "'Tis nothing," she said, with a touch of asperity when he showed it to her; "the maid threw a broken flower pot from the upper window, and this earth was no doubt spilled out as it fell--there are the remnants of the jar by the fence." The guard bowed and withdrew; but there was a supercilious smile on his face, which filled her with nervous apprehension. In a hasty resentment that the man perhaps guessed at her duplicity, she could have struck him. And yet a second time was she thrown into consternation, when her mother discovered the loss of the attic key from her bunch. "Oh, it is not lost! I broke the string yesterday night, and doubtless I missed this one when I strung them up again. It is in my room this minute, I dare swear. Is there aught you need in the attic now?" "Nay, I but feared the key was lost." "Well, let me first finish this round of knitting and I will hunt it. Mother," she went on, after a pause, during which she picked up her stitches industriously, "had you not better go over and make my peace with Aunt Clevering? She was most angry with me last night." "And good cause she had, Joscelyn; methinks I never heard any one make so rude a speech. What put you to it?" "In faith, mother, I cannot tell. It was cruel and unwarranted, and you may tell her I say so, and that I am bitterly sorry. Make any excuse you please, only make it at once, for you know Aunt Clevering's displeasure grows like a mushroom when left to itself."