“We’ll not,” said he, gliding into speed again with the care of the practised whip, “overhaul them much before Salisbury.” Then the moonlight caught his face, showed his quizzical smile, and the rueful questioning of his eyes, as he went on: “And what the dickens am I to say, when we do? Split me, Miss Pounce, you’ve rushed me into a pretty kettle of fish! Bejabers, what in the world is it to me all said and done, that Jasper should be off with that little lady?” “Oh fie, my Lord----” began Pamela warmly. But he interrupted her: “Well, well, never fear, ’tis as good an excuse as another for a bit of fun. Faith, didn’t my Lady tell me the other day, it was the regular old gentleman I was growing into!” He caught her absently by the waist, as he spoke, laughing as the vehicle swerved; and Pamela found herself again wishing for the company of the dark-browed slim young gentleman to whom she had given her heart, and who--Mr. Jocelyn had such sensibility--would have understood the really grave nature of this seemingly mad quest. * * * * * It was after two hours’ steady chase, even as the road dipped from the downs into the valley, back again into the corn-fields--these had a marvellous silver and amber glow in the moonlight--that they saw, half a furlong away, the black bulk of a moving vehicle, and heard the double clatter of leisurely trotting horses. “’Tis but another farm waggon,” quoth my Lord. “Nay,” cried Pamela, “for I see the bobbing of the post-boy, plain as plain.” “Do you, indeed, my dear?” cried my Lord in exhilarated accents, handling the reins with a zest that sent the horse forward with a great impetus. “You haven’t dathered your sight with the Crown’s noted treble ale. Well, if this isn’t the fun of the world! I’ve stopped a coach before, my dear--that in your ear--but split me, never from a curricle, with a monstrous fine girl beside me!” “I’m a farmer’s daughter,” she said resolutely, “and can manage a horse with anyone. So I can take the reins, my Lord, when you want your hands free.” “’Pon me sowl!” ejaculated Kilcroney admiringly. But he proceeded no further, for the black horse, gathering speed, and excited by the clatter of rival hoofs, made a dash forward, and my Lord, with voice and cracking lash, encouraged the canter to a gallop. The post-boy started from his jogging trance, looked over his shoulder and hastily pulled to one side. The curricle went by at a flash; my Lord never slackened speed till they had reached the bottom of the hill and a bit beyond. “Now,” said Kilcroney, as he manœuvred the curricle right across the road, “now for the fun of the fair! Just put your lovely hand under the seat and see if you can lay a hould of me pistols.” (My Lord’s brogue became agreeably marked in moments of emotion.)