“Seen a lady, my lads?”
“No, sir. Been on the watch ever since we come, and no one’s been near,” said the first postboy.
“Humph! Past time. Horses fresh?”
“Fresh as daisies, Sir Harry. Don’t you be afraid. No one’ll catch us.”
“Are you sure you’ve both been watching? Not been asleep, have you?”
“Sleep a-top of a horse, Sir Harry? Not we.”
“Mount!” cried Sir Harry to the second man. “Here she comes.”
What followed was the business of a few moments. A slight little veiled figure came panting up, and was caught in Sir Harry’s arms.
“At last!” he cried. “This way, little pet-curse the woman! What are you doing here?”
Claire Denville’s cloak dropped from her shoulders as, panting and utterly exhausted with the chase after her sister, she flung her arms about her and held her fast.