Pamela sat on the edge of her bed, yawned, and gazed at the door which separated her from Lady Selina’s apartment, congratulating herself that, so old-fashioned was the hostelry, there was no other issue. But, as she looked, the smile faded from her face. The door was not quite closed! She remembered very well how my Lady Selina had banged and bolted it last night, intimating thereby, better than by any speech, what she thought of the intrusive proximity of the milliner. “It’s not possible----!” On the spur of suspicion, Pamela was out of bed and into the next room at a spring. Sunshine was pouring in between the open shutters; the great four-post bed was empty. There was no trace of the fair delinquent, save a long gauntletted glove on the floor. “Well, of all--of all the minxes!” Miss Pounce pivoted on herself. “Pamela, my girl, you’re fooled! And you such a light sleeper, to think you should have slept so deep and let the bird fly!” She ran back to her own room and, after ringing the bell violently, proceeded like a hurricane to her toilet. Cold water and yellow soap were good enough for her any day. The service at the Mitre seemed scarce like to add to its reputation. Miss Pounce was well advanced, indeed she had reached the stage of buttoning her trim figure into the grey riding coat, before the repeated attacks on the bell-pull produced a panting housemaid. “Oh, please, Miss,” began this damsel volubly, “was you ringing? I was kept by the gentlemen in Blue Parrot, helping the gentleman to bind the other gentleman’s arm, what hurt himself. And that there post-boy was not so far out, for if ever I see a sword cut----” Pamela interrupted with an ejaculation of relief. “Sir Jasper is still in the inn, then? And my Lord, too?” “Aye, Miss----” “And the lady?” “The lady’s been gone this hour, Miss. Oh, aye, she went off with the other gentleman----” “What----?” shrieked Pamela. “Oh, aye, Miss! The handsome, dark gentleman what travelled all the way from London to meet her. Last night, when he came riding in, missis and all of us agreed, we never saw a handsomer gentleman. ‘I expect,’ says he, ‘a lady by coach from Weymouth.’” She stopped to stare: “Be’n’t you well, Miss?” Pamela had fallen into a chair. A cold and pricking fear had laid hold of her. There are premonitions of the heart which out-leap any perception of the wits. “His name, his name!” she gasped. “Lud, now!” The girl clacked her tongue. “I did hear her call him----” “Stay!” cried Pamela. “Was it Bellairs?” “Lud, Miss,” cried the girl, “however did you know?” “Because,” said Miss Pounce sternly, “I am the lady he came to meet.” * * * * *