She ran back to her own room and, after ringing the bell violently, proceeded like a hurricane to her toilet. Cold water and yellow soap were good enough for her any day. The service at the Mitre seemed scarce like to add to its reputation. Miss Pounce was well advanced, indeed she had reached the stage of buttoning her trim figure into the grey riding coat, before the repeated attacks on the bell-pull produced a panting housemaid.
“Oh, please, Miss,” began this damsel volubly, “was you ringing? I was kept by the gentlemen in Blue Parrot, helping the gentleman to bind the other gentleman’s arm, what hurt himself. And that there post-boy was not so far out, for if ever I see a sword cut——”
Pamela interrupted with an ejaculation of relief.
“Sir Jasper is still in the inn, then? And my Lord, too?”
“Aye, Miss——”
“And the lady?”
“The lady’s been gone this hour, Miss. Oh, aye, she went off with the other gentleman——”
“What——?” shrieked Pamela.
“Oh, aye, Miss! The handsome, dark gentleman what travelled all the way from London to meet her. Last night, when he came riding in, missis and all of us agreed, we never saw a handsomer gentleman. ‘I expect,’ says he, ‘a lady by coach from Weymouth.’” She stopped to stare: “Be’n’t you well, Miss?”
Pamela had fallen into a chair. A cold and pricking fear had laid hold of her. There are premonitions of the heart which out-leap any perception of the wits.