“And what’ll ye be after wi’ the deevilish jade?” “To exact a just and lasting vengeance, Hector.” “Hoot awa’, Johnnie—hoot-toot, ye canna fecht a wumman——” “I can do worse, Hector!” “Man John, wha’ dae ye mean?” “I can marry her, Hector.” CHAPTER II WHICH DESCRIBES A FORTUITOUS BUT FATEFUL MEETING The Fates, those mysterious, unearthly sisters who are for ever busied upon the destinies of poor, finite humanity—the Fates, it seems, decreed that my Lady Herminia Barrasdaile, travelling full speed for Paris, should be suddenly precipitated upon the soft, resilient form of her devoted maid, Mrs. Betty, to that buxom creature’s gasping dismay and her own vast indignation; wherefore, the huge vehicle coming to an abrupt standstill, down fell the window and out went my lady’s angry, albeit lovely, countenance to demand instant explanation from coachmen, footmen and the world in general. “Why, ye see, my lady,” answered red-faced Giles, the coachman, his Sussex calm entirely unruffled, “it do so ’appen as our off-side rear spring’s gone, mam.” “Gone, man, gone? Who’s stolen it? What a plague d’you mean, Giles?” demanded her ladyship. “I means broke, my lady, snapped, mam, parted-loike. We’m down on our back-axle—an’ theer y’are, mam!” “Why then, mend it, Giles; mend it at once and let us get on—I must reach Paris to-night if possible.” “Aye, we’ll mend it, my lady, sure to goodness—in toime——” “How long?” “Why, it du all depend, my lady—maybe an hour, maybe tu——” Wide swung the heavy coach-door and forth sprang her ladyship, a slim and graceful fury who, perceiving the damage and necessary delay, swore as only a very fine lady might, with a tripping comprehensiveness and passionate directness that reduced Giles and the two footmen to awed silence. “Hush, mam!” pleaded Mrs. Betty, as her lady paused for breath. “Don’t ’ee now, there’s a duck——” “But, zounds, wench,” cried her mistress, “you know ’tis a case o’ life and death ... to be delayed thus....” “Aye, I know, mem—but do ’ee take a sniff at your vinaigrette, my lady——” “Tush!” exclaimed her ladyship. “Hold your silly tongue, do!” “Yes, my lady ... but there’s a light yonder among the trees—an inn, I think, mam——” “Ha—an inn? Thomas, go, see—and bring help instantly—and order another coach if there be one! Run, oaf, run!” Away sped Thomas, a long-barrelled pistol protruding from either side-pocket, while my lady paced to and fro, fuming with impatience, until back he scurried with two chattering French ostlers at his heels, to say it was an inn, sure enough, but that no manner of conveyance was to be had. “We’ll see about that!” exclaimed my lady. “Come, Betty!” And off she hasted forthwith, the meek and obedient Betty attendant. It was a small, drowsy inn, but at my lady’s advent it awoke to sudden life and bustle, its every chamber seemed full of stir, tripping feet and chattering voices; and all for the English Miladi’s comfort and welfare.