But when we started toward the coach, she clung to me, limping, and began to cry from pain. When I saw that she was hurt, I caught her up in my arms and carried her to the coach, followed by the driver, bearing the reins and Betty's hood, cloak, gloves, and boots. Frances was already inside the coach, and George was about to follow her, when I came up with poor helpless Betty, and somewhat angrily ordered him to stand aside while I made her comfortable. Frances began to soothe Betty, whose tears flowed afresh under the sympathy. By the time George and I were in the coach, the drivers were on the box, but before we started one of them lifted the curtain and said:-- "I hear them moving in the house." "Make the more haste," I answered. "Shan't we stay for a fight, sir?" asked the driver, evidently disappointed. "We'll have it later on," said George, and the next moment the coach was turned and we were on our homeward road. When we reached the Oxford Road, the horses started at a smart gallop, and we began to hope that we had not been discovered by the inmates of Merlin House. But soon we heard horses galloping behind us. After a consultation, George and I concluded to stop the coach. Frances and Betty were much alarmed, and begged us to try to escape by whipping the horses. But I knew that our pursuers, being on horseback, would soon overtake us, and I was convinced that nothing could be gained by attempting flight. I have seen a small dog stop a larger one by waiting for it. So we waited, and when our pursuers, a half score of men on horseback, came up to us, we met them with a fusillade of powder and shot, which persuaded them to allow us to go our way and evidently made them content to go theirs, for we saw nothing more of them. On the way to London, Frances told us briefly the story of the day. She had started to her father's house and had left the river at Baynard's Castle stairs. It was near one o'clock when she left her boat, and the snow, which had been falling for an hour or more, covered the ground. When she reached the head of the narrow street leading to Upper Thames Street from the river stairs, she found a coach waiting for her. The driver touched his hat and asked if she was Mistress Jennings. When she answered that she was, he said I had sent him to watch for her and to take her to Sir Richard's house, the snow being deep and the storm violent. My name and Sir Richard's fell so glibly from the fellow's tongue that she, suspecting nothing, entered the coach. Within three or four minutes the coach stopped, but she thought nothing of it, supposing the way was blocked.