Unconscious both of their admiration and their talk of her, Mistress Betty went her way among them, the gloomy experience telling in a manner upon her life and character, teaching her alike to repress her natural feelings and to endure suspicion without openly expressing her indignation. The last was no easy matter, for she had a high temper and a passionate resentment of injustice. Her only comfort was the privilege she enjoyed of long rides with Sir Edmund Bedingfield. Knowing her uncle, and trusting her where he would not have dared to trust the queen’s older attendants, he gave her more license. Finding that she rode well and loved to be on a fine horse’s back, having inherited her father’s appreciation of a good animal, Bedingfield permitted her to accompany his party when he made excursions in the neighborhood. And so it was that, by a chance, Mistress Carew made the acquaintance of a person who was to play no unimportant part in her life. Accompanied by her woman and two stout grooms, she had been out with Sir Edmund upon an errand in the country near Kimbolton. Returning at noonday, they drew rein at the Inn of the Sign of the Blue Boar, where Bedingfield and his two male attendants dismounted and went into the tavern, Sir Edmund for some information, and the two men for liquor. Betty and her woman waited without, and as they were detained a little while, there was ample opportunity to look about them. It being noonday, the courtyard of the Blue Boar was full of horses, tied and awaiting their masters, who were eating and drinking within. A few idle grooms lounged near the stables, waiting to earn a guerdon from a new arrival, and in the window of the kitchen leaned two or three rosy-faced maids gazing out at the scene. Betty’s horse, a restive creature, stood out upon the road at the gate, and being occupied with her own thoughts, she let the reins lie slack upon his neck, although she knew his spirit. Suddenly there was the sound of a horse’s hoofs upon the road behind her, coming at a gallop, and she turned her head to observe the new arrival. As she did so, a piebald horse with a darkly cloaked rider on his back came dashing past her. She had no time for observation; her own animal plunged so wildly that she nearly lost her seat, and kept it only by virtue of her early training. So strange was the encounter that she was almost certain that the new-comer cut her horse with his whip as he passed. How it was, she could not tell, except that her gallant black was off at a gallop, and she could scarcely have curbed him but for the interference of the rider of the piebald steed. He dashed along the road, riding across her path, and with wonderful dexterity caught her bridle rein, halting the runaway. Coming thus to a standstill, some twenty yards from the inn, Betty found herself face to face with the stranger, while behind them there was a great commotion, all the visitors at the tavern having