So much for his course with regard to Georgiana’s possible opposition. Wherever they should stop, he would allow her no chance of speaking to anybody out of his presence: when she slept, not even a maid should have access to her room, and he himself would rest outside her door, with the key in his pocket. At the first town they should enter on the morrow, he would take measures to supply her with the necessaries she now lacked; he would have to provide a few things for himself also, for he had left his cloak-bag at Foxwell Court. At the same town, he would abandon the horse, and hire a post-chaise for the continuance of their journey. His ultimate aim must be, to reach the small seaport to which Roughwood had gone before him, and thence be conveyed with Georgiana to France. Whether circumstances would permit him to make her his wife on their Southward journey, he could not know; if not, the ceremony should be his first concern upon setting foot in France. So the future took general form in his thoughts as he rode. But meanwhile, only the first step had been made. A thousand difficulties, a thousand dangers, stood in the way. He saw himself at the beginning of a long and toilsome business, which would make incessant demands upon his wit, resolution, and endurance. He could allow himself little time for rest. All depended upon his retaining the start he had gained; upon his keeping ever ahead of the pursuit that would be made, and of the news which, spreading in all directions, would follow close upon his heels. He now thanked his impulse for having led him into this road. If Foxwell had set out as soon as horse could be saddled, he must lose much time by taking the wrong road, which Everell, still hearing nothing behind, assumed that he would surely do. But this advantage, if it really existed, might be more than offset ere all was done. A sudden sharp sense of this caused Everell to urge the horse to its former pace. The animal responded readily enough; sped most gallantly for a furlong or so; then, without any warning, stumbled upon its knees, almost throwing the riders. It rose trembling, and started to go on—but with a limp that made Everell’s heart sink within him. “Curse upon the bad road! The horse is lamed—hopelessly! Poor beast! brave fellow, he would bear us still in spite of his pain! Well, he can serve us no more to-night! There’s nothing for it but going afoot till I can get another mount.”