Hastily putting the frail flower in Mr. Lovely's hand, the maid ran to the door. There she stayed a moment.
"And say, will 'ee, that I'm coming to kiss her and hug her and comfort her as soon as the Wells waggon can bring me."
"That's a good maid—a loyal maid," said Charles to himself when Betty was gone, and, as he looked at the tender blossom somewhat shrivelled by captivity, a fallen tear trembled like a dew-diamond on the golden heart of the gathered flower.
And now the problem of escaping his duns vexed Mr. Lovely more acutely than before. Daish had been pacified by generous Clare with £50 on account. The horses were saddled and ready; and by the greatest good fortune when Charles looked out into the inn-yard, there was not a snuff-coloured soul in sight.
Blewforth came in with the news of Sheriff's officers, and Clare appeared in the gallery all buttoned up for the journey: "Where shall I tell Daish to send our baggage by the Wells' stage waggon? there's a good inn called The Basket of Roses about twenty five miles away, dy'e know it?"
"No," said Charles, "is it on the London Road?"
"Yes, on the London Road."
"Then 'twill suit me very well. Shall we set out at once, Tony?"
"No time to lose," shouted Blewforth.
Daish came shuffling in to say the horses were growing impatient of the cold.