“Where is Sir Crispin?” she demanded. And to the dame's quavering answer that she knew not, she angrily bade her go ascertain. In a pet, Cynthia paced the chamber whilst Catherine was gone upon that errand. Did this man account her a toy to while away the hours for which he could find no more profitable diversion, and to leave her to die of ennui when aught else offered? Was it a small thing that he had asked of her, to go with him into a strange land, that he should show himself so little sensible of the honour done him? With such questions did she plague herself, and finding them either unanswerable, or answerable only by affirmatives, she had well-nigh resolved upon leaving the inn, and making her way back to London to seek out her aunt, when the door opened and her woman reappeared. “Well?” cried Cynthia, seeing her alone. “Where is Sir Crispin?” “Below, madam.” “Below?” echoed she. “And what, pray, doth he below?” “He is at dice with a gentleman from London.” In the dim light of the October twilight the woman saw not the sudden pallor of her mistress's cheeks, but she heard the gasp of pain that was almost a cry. In her mortification, Cynthia could have wept had she given way to her feelings. The man who had induced her to elope with him sat at dice with a gentleman from London! Oh, it was monstrous! At the thought of it she broke into a laugh that appalled her tiring-woman; then mastering her hysteria, she took a sudden determination. “Call me the host,” she cried, and the frightened Catherine obeyed her at a run. When the landlord came, bearing lights, and bending his aged back obsequiously: “Have you a pillion?” she asked abruptly. “Well, fool, why do you stare? Have you a pillion?” “I have, madam.” “And a knave to ride with me, and a couple more as escort?” “I might procure them, but--” “How soon?” “Within half an hour, but--” “Then go see to it,” she broke in, her foot beating the ground impatiently. “But, madam--” “Go, go, go!” she cried, her voice rising at each utterance of that imperative. “But, madam,” the host persisted despairingly, and speaking quickly so that he might get the words out, “I have no horses fit to travel ten miles.” “I need to go but five,” she retorted quickly, her only thought being to get the beasts, no matter what their condition. “Now, go, and come not back until all is ready. Use dispatch and I will pay you well, and above all, not a word to the gentleman who came hither with me.” The sorely-puzzled host withdrew to do her bidding, won to it by her promise of good payment.