It was drawing towards evening when Desmond reached Hounslow Heath, a wide bare expanse of scrubby land intersected by a muddy road. A light mist lay over the ground, and he was thankful that the road to London was perfectly direct, so that there was no further risk of his losing his way. The solitude and the dismal appearance of the country, together with its ill-repute, made him quicken his pace, though he had no fear of molestation; having nothing to lose he would be but poor prey for a highwayman, and he trusted to his cudgel to protect him from the attentions of any single footpad or tramp. Striding along, in the gathering dusk he came suddenly upon a curious scene. A heavy travelling carriage was drawn half across the road, its forewheels perilously near the ditch. Near by was a lady, standing with arms stiff and hands clenched, stamping her foot as she addressed, in no measured terms, two men who were rolling over one another in a desperate tussle a few yards away on the heath. As Desmond drew nearer he perceived that a second and a younger lady stood at the horses’ heads, grasping the bridles firmly with both hands. His footsteps were unheard on the heavy road, and the elder lady’s back being towards him he came up to her unawares. She started with a little cry when she saw a stranger move towards her out of the gloom. But perceiving at a second glance that he was only a boy, with nothing villainous about his appearance, she turned to him impulsively and, taking him by the sleeve, said: "There! You see them! The wretches! They are drunk and pay no heed to me! Can you part them? I do not wish to be benighted on this heath. The wretch uppermost is the coachman." "I might part them, perhaps," said Desmond dubiously. "Of course I will try, ma’am." "Sure I wouldn’t trust ’em, mamma," called the younger lady from the horses’ heads. "The man is too drunk to drive." "I fear ’tis so. ’Tis not our own man, sir. As we returned to-day from a visit to Taplow our coachman was trampled by a horse at Slough, and my husband stayed with him--an old and trusty servant--till he could consult a surgeon. We found a substitute at the inn to drive us home. But the wretch brought a bottle; he drank with the footman all along the road; and now, as you see, they are at each other’s throats in their drunken fury. Sure we shall never get home in time for the rout we are bid to." "Shall I drive you to London, ma’am?" said Desmond. "’Twere best to leave the men to settle their differences." "But can you drive?" "Oh yes," replied Desmond with a smile. "I am used to horses." "Then I beg you to oblige us. Yes, let the wretches fight themselves sober. Phyllis, this gentleman will drive us; come."