“Come, Salted,” cried the grey gentleman suddenly, in a laughing, half-vexed way. “Remember what’s due to your guests, child, now and to be. Come along and ride yourself sober, as you engaged.” “Shober, nunky! shober, you cake!” sputtered the fool. “Shober ’nough yourself to wa’t me go on and break my neck--hey, my lord?” He leered tipsily to the earl his father, who grinned, and blinked his red eyes. “Let him be, George,” said the nobleman. “Damme, the boy’s not fit to ride a broomstick. You’re precious anxious for the gipsy, brother. I’d as lief you was concerned for your nephew.” “And so I am,” says the other hotly. “’Tis foul so to take advantage of a stranger and a child. Call your cub off, sir,” says he, “if I’m not to take a whip to him.” He gathered his reins in, and twitched his heels. He was bronzed and comely, a man of thirty or so, younger by ten years than the earl. He, the latter, had turned quite white. A frost seemed to have pinched his cheeks. In another moment, I believe, he would have drawn his riding-switch across the handsome face, but in that moment I was aware of a lady hurrying up, and I broke from my captor, and fled to meet her. “Help me!” I cried. “Don’t let him hurt me!” She received me very kindly. She was a tall and colourless figure, gentle in mien but with a bad complexion--the lady, in short, in whose company I had left Father Pope. “Hardwick! George!” she whispered, in an outraged voice. The earl pushed up to her, with a snigger. “There, Sophy,” said he. “What are you doin’ here? But I’m glad you’ve come. Is this here your protégée? Well, take the little baggage away, that was near bringing us to words about her.” “Words!” she said. “This child!” “O,” he exclaimed, “that’s all one! Come, boy!” She detained him some minutes, murmuring to him as he bent down. At the end he rose, grinning at me. “What!” says he--“the sly old crow! Be sure the little sweep wasn’t fathered by a black cassock before you adopt her.” She started back, flushing scarlet. “Hardrough!” she said; “I ask you to go on.” “Well, I will,” said he, with a little breathless laugh, “and carry your secret, sister, safe in my keepin’.” He half wheeled, and in an ironic voice summoned the young viscount. The boy got to his horse as sulky as sin. In another minute the three gentlemen were ridden out of sight. The moment they had disappeared the lady turned to me. “Why didn’t you keep by your friend?” she asked, rather sharply. “From what he tells me, you are in need of one.” I hung my head and broke into sobs. She was softened immediately. “There,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be harsh; but discretion was so necessary. Will you come with me--I am the Lady Sophia Rowe--and we can discuss your case in safety at home? But every instant means peril, and we must hasten.”