“A woman, Rose, a lady o’ high degree who hath constituted herself my determined though somewhat hysterical Nemesis. She dedicated me to her vengeance five weary years ago, and ever since, when moved to by splenetic humours, for she is a vaporish lady, she hath wrought to such purpose that here am I fleeing back home to marry her——” “To ... oh ... to ... marry her?” “Precisely! Why d’ye gasp, child?” “But if she hath been ... is ... your enemy——” “I will make her wife to the ‘Wicked Dering’!” “Are you so—so sure you can?” “As sure as life, Rose!” “Life is a thing most uncertain, I’ve heard, Sir John!” “Aye, but not till we’re dead, Rose.” “But how if she refuse you?” “I ha’n’t troubled to think o’ that.” “Do you know her well?” “So little that I have small doubts.” “Indeed? And how if she utterly scorn and contemn you? How if she make a mock o’ you? How if she bid her servants drive you from her presence?” “Don’t gnash your pretty teeth, child! And if she so despitefully use me then should I come a-seeking thee, my Rose——” “Me?” she stammered. “You—you’d come—to me?” “’Tis most certain!” he answered. “But not as the notorious Sir John; ’twould be as the meek, the gentle and reverent John Derwent I should woo until I won thee at last, sweet Rose o’ love. Do but think on me as John Derwent and I will begin e’en now, humbly, tenderly, as only John Derwent might woo thee, thou fragrant Innocency.” “And what of—her—your enemy?” “We would leave her to her vengeance, child, whiles thou and I——” Sir John paused suddenly to listen. “Rose,” said he, “d’ye hear aught?” And presently, sure enough, above the never-ceasing rumble of wheels, creaking of springs and jingle of harness, they distinguished the rhythmic throb of oncoming, galloping hoofs. “Horsemen!” she exclaimed. “One!” he corrected. “And do not be alarmed, it may be a friend—and yet it may not!” Saying which, Sir John reached down one of his pistols from the slings and, lowering the window, leaned out. The moon was sinking, but by her diminished light he descried a solitary horseman who galloped hard in the dust of their wheels, and, dim-seen though he was in consequence, it needed but one glance at his height and width to reassure Sir John, who immediately called to his driver to stop; and very soon the horseman was alongside. “What—Hector!” exclaimed Sir John joyously. “So you’ve caught us, have ye? A thousand welcomes!” “Welcomes, is it?” quoth Sir Hector, reining nearer and shaking dust from every fold of his riding-cloak. “Welcomes whateffer—an’ me nigh choked wi’ your dust, and ye’sel’ up tae a’ manner o’ deevilish ploys and riots—an’ wounded gentlemen cursin’ theirsel’s intae fevers all along the road, and a’ on your account, Master John Derwent!” “Nay, merely one gentleman—of sorts, Hector! I had the fortune to meet with my Lord Sayle, who was somewhat ill-mannered——” “Aye, but didna ye tak’ the man’s post-horses?”