"I should like to see Abigail Hill," she said, as if to herself. "I cannot tell how to do it. But we must not delay, even for that. Get in, my dear."
Celia got into the coach, wondering what reason her step-mother could have for wishing to see Lady Masham, and also why she did not give her the benefit of her title. Lady Ingram resumed her own seat in silence, and leaned back in the carriage, apparently cogitating deeply. Mile after mile the travellers journeyed on, until the dusk fell, and at the little inn at Bedfont the coach pulled up. William appeared at the window.
"Please your Ladyship, we can cross the heath to-night," he said. "There's a regiment of Colonel Churchill's just before: the host says they haven't been gone five minutes."
"Then bid Shale hasten on, without stopping to bait," answered his mistress. "We must overtake them, for I do not mean to stop on the road another night, unless it cannot be helped."
The horses were urged on as fast as they could go, and in about a quarter of an hour they came up with the regiment, under whose guardianship they crossed the dreaded Hounslow Heath without fear of molestation. At Hammersmith the coach stopped again. After a little parley between William and the innkeeper, four men came out of the inn with torches in their hands. Two of them placed themselves on each side of the coach, and they slowly journeyed on again. It was quite dark now. Gradually the road became busier and more noisy, and houses appeared lining it at intervals. At length they had fairly entered the metropolis. The coach worked its way slowly along the muddy streets, for it had been raining since they left Staines, and the shouts of the linkmen were almost deafening. As they proceeded, another coach suddenly appeared and attempted to pass them. This could not be permitted. The coachman whipped his horses, the linkmen screamed, the great coach swayed to and fro with the unusual pace. Lady Ingram opened the window and looked out, while the maid clasped her hands and shrieked in her own tongue that she was killed.
"Not at all, ma bonne," was the calm response of the mistress. Then turning to Celia, she asked, "You are not afraid?"
"Not unless you tell me there is something to fear, Madam," answered Celia, in the quiescence rather of ignorance than of courage.
"Ah! I like that answer," replied Lady Ingram, smiling her approval, and patting Celia's cheek. "There is good metal in you, ma chére; it is only the work that asks the polishing."
Celia wondered what the process of polishing would be, and into what kind of creature she would find herself transmuted when it was finished.
"William," said Lady Ingram, putting her head out of the window, "whose coach is that other?"