He lifted Georgiana from the saddle, threw his leg over it, and slid with her to the ground. For a few moments he let her stand, but kept one arm around her, while he looked up and down the road in search of a habitation. But the darkness baffled him. He remembered having passed a few scattered cottages, but the nearest was a good way back. He was likely to find a house sooner by going ahead, which seemed on other accounts the better course. As for the poor steed, Everell was first of a mind to leave it to its will; but he feared it might thus serve to inform his pursuers of his enforced delay in the neighbourhood, and cause more particular search to be made near at hand. Retaining the halter in his grasp, and taking up Georgiana so as to carry her as one carries a child in long clothes, he started forward. He hoped he might discover a house before the young lady’s weight became too much for him; in other case, he must subject her lightly shod feet to contact with the rough road. Fortunately, he soon beheld a light, which by its steadiness and position he judged to belong to a house not far ahead, on higher ground, a little way back from the left-hand side of the road. Everell stopped, and again set Georgiana on her feet. “Do you know whose house that is?” he asked, curtly. “No,” she replied, in the lowest audible voice. “Good,” said he. “From its situation I think it may be a gentleman’s. At all events, I intend to borrow a horse there—perhaps a pair of horses, or—who knows?—a chaise and pair. I shall tell what story I see fit; and you will say nothing—or at most a mere yes or no to confirm my account. You are under my compulsion, which I am ready to enforce by desperate acts. Remember, my life is not worth a farthing, in the eye of the law; nothing more that I may do can add to the fate I have already incurred; so if all’s lost I’m determined to stop at nothing. I warn you then, once and for all, attempt not to thwart me in the slightest matter, unless you wish to bring down such a catastrophe as you dare not even imagine. You are not to quit my side unless at my command. It may be, your face is known to the people we shall see in that house: you must have been closely observed the day you appeared at church. So I must bid you take your neckerchief and veil your face with it—I’ll tie it myself when you have it arranged. And you will on no account remove it—nor the cloak, either, which hides your figure. For all this concealment and silence, I shall contrive to account. All depends on whom I have to deal with yonder; till I see what manner of person, I know not what tale I must invent. Whatever you find it, you will support it by silence and obedience. Bear in mind, you are not your own mistress: you are under my enforcement. If evil come of your obedience, the consequences will be upon my head; but ’tis nothing to the evil that will come if you disobey. So beware, then, of causing such disaster as I will not even speak of!”