"It must travel in the chaise," said Charles. "What about Mrs. Courteen?" questioned Mr. Ripple. "She is in a swoon." "You are sure he is quite dead?" asked Charles and wondered at the futility of the remark. Nobody troubled to reply. "Perhaps it would be better to send a waggon," said Clare. "We are not many miles from Roseland-in-the-Vale." "Somebody has cut off his epaulettes," said Charles. "Then it may have been footpads," said the Beau. "No wayfarer would rob the dead." "It is a very dark night," said Clare simply. "He fought at Fontenoy. Let us lift him out of the mud," said Mr. Ripple, vaguely recalling long stories which the dead soldier had poured into his ears. "He gave his life for her. We must certainly lift him out of the mud," said Charles. "A dead body is dangerous to horses," said Clare, "I will take his head." Just then the widow screamed again. "Say nothing of this to Mrs. Courteen," said Mr. Ripple to the diminutive coachman. "I knew something 'd 'appen," replied the latter. "I knew something 'd 'appen when I see'd as how somebody had stuck a bunch of primmerroses in Blue Jenkins's toes." _Chapter the Thirty-fourth_ OLD ACQUAINTANCE Charles said he would ride on to the _Basket of Roses_ and bid the landlord prepare a supper against the arrival of the rest. Clare stayed behind to protect the Beau from the hysterical excitement of Mrs. Courteen, who would not be pacified by anything less formidable than an armed escort. She had made up her mind that highwaymen were abroad, refused to allow the chaise to drive fast lest they might gallop unaware into a thieves' ambush, and alarmed herself with so many imaginary bogies that she almost succeeded in making Mr. Ripple fire point blank at Mr. Anthony Clare's shadow looming huge in the hedgerow. Charles reached the _Basket of Roses_ not long after the departure of the lovers, and on hearing the news immediately spurred his grey horse to pursuit. For a couple of miles he plunged along a road that was almost a swamp, fired to greater exertions each minute by the sight of the ruts made by the chariot in front. Suddenly his horse began to go lame; the road grew worse; the ruts proved to be those of a country waggon. He was riding in the wrong direction, so he turned his grey round and walked her back to the inn. While he was inquiring into the possibility of securing a fresh mount, a voice from the parlour called out to know if any person was inquiring into the whereabouts of a young woman. "She supped alone with the old gentleman," whispered Mrs. Tabrum.