Mary relaxed again, satisfied. When Sophia and her mother had left the house she lay for a while, thinking. Betty came in with her supper on a tray. Her appetite seemed to have deserted her, and she sent the tray away again almost untouched. At ten o’clock Betty went up the steep stairs to her little chamber, and Mary got out of bed, and began to dress. Her fingers shook slightly as she struggled with laces and hooks, and she felt rather cold. A search through one of Sophia’s drawers, redolent of cedar-chips, brought to light a loo-mask, once worn at a carnival. She put it on, and thought, peering at herself in the mirror, how oddly her eyes glittered through the slits.
She had some of the housekeeping money in her reticule; not very much but enough for her needs, she hoped. She hung the bag on her arm, put on a cloak, and pulled the hood carefully over her head.
On the way down the stairs she stopped at her mother’s room, and left the letter she had written on the dressing-table. Then she crept noiselessly down to the hall, and let herself out of the silent house.
The street was deserted, and a sharp wind whipped Mary’s cloak out behind her. She dragged it together, and holding it close with one hand, set off down the road. The night was cold, and overhead hurrying storm-clouds from time to time hid the moon.
Mary came round the bend in the street, and saw ahead of her the lights of a waiting chaise. She had an impulse to go back, but checked it, and walked resolutely on.
The light was very dim, but she was able as she drew closer to distinguish the outline of a travelling chaise drawn by four horses. She could see the postillions standing to the horses’ heads and another figure, taller than theirs, pacing up and down in the light thrown by the flambeaux burning before the corner house.
She came up to this figure soft-footed. He swung round and grasped at her hand, held out timidly towards him. “You’ve come!” he said, and kissed her fingers. They shook in his strong hold. He drew her towards the chaise, his arm round her shoulders. “You’re afraid? No need, my bird. I have you safe.” He saw that she was masked, and laughed softly. “Oh, my little romantic love, was that needful?” he mocked, and his hand went up to find the string of the mask.
She contrived to hold him off. “Not yet! Not here!” she whispered.
He did not persist, but he still seemed amused. “No one will see you,” he remarked. “But keep it if you will.” He handed her up into the chaise. “Try to sleep, my pretty, you’ve a long way to travel, I fear.”
He sprang down from the step, and she realized with a shudder of relief that he was riding.