She loved the quaintly-arrayed army of fruit trees in the orchards, the tender green of the lawns, the ruddy tints of early autumn which clothed the hillside with a brilliant mantle of gold. No! She could not believe that in this land of beauty, of peace and of plenty, all men were born traitors, all men were liars and thieves of honour. Some subtle change came over them, no doubt, and their bravery, their loyalty, passed away from them, revealing the devil which had taken possession of their soul. She would persist in thinking that Michael, whom she had loved, was a different man to the one who stood before her, accused and self-convicted--more shamed than she whom he had wronged. Thus her thoughts kept her body alert and she scarcely felt the fatigue of that long, lumbering drive on the stage-coach between Dover and London. There was so much to see and so much to think on and to plan. The very next day her father should seek out my lord of Stowmaries and tell him all that was brewing against him. It was surely more than likely that my lord would be grateful and in his gratitude strive to undo the mischief which his own wantonness had created. What this would mean to Rose Marie she had not even dared to ask herself. A strong sense of right and of justice and an overwhelming love for her parents had prompted her to offer herself a willing sacrifice for their happiness. Her own poor heart was already so bruised, so battered, almost broken in its agony of sorrow, what mattered a little more humiliation, a few more tears, another pang? Rose Marie sighed with regret when in the gloaming the stage-coach finally left behind it the orchards and green pastures of Kent and rattled over the cobblestones of the big city. At seven o'clock, with much rattle of chains and billets, many shouts from driver and ostler and much champing of bits, the big vehicle swung through the gates of the yard at Savage's Bell Inn near Lud Gate. Here the tailor and his daughter meant to put up, the hostelry having been warmly recommended to him by several business friends who travelled to and fro from London to Paris. As Rose Marie climbed down from the top of the coach, it seemed to her that despite the fast-gathering gloom within the enclosed yard, she could recognise the face of Master Daniel Pye among the crowd who were assembled to witness the arrival of the coach. The face disappeared in the crowd almost as soon as she had recognised it, but the brief vision left her with a great sense of satisfaction that obviously the journey had not been undertaken in vain. The man had taken the trouble to watch and to wait, obviously fearing that his nefarious plans might be frustrated by those whom he had hoped to enlist on his side.