“I am so sorry!” she murmured.
Still keeping his face turned away, he held out his hand and she pressed it gently.
“Sorrow cannot give me my freedom,” he said.
“If there is anything I can do——” she began.
“Dismount,” he said, looking up at her tenderly.
Lady Alicia never quite knew how it happened, but certainly she found herself standing on the ground, and the next moment Mr Beveridge was in her place.
“An old soldier,” he exclaimed, gaily; “I can’t resist the temptation of having a canter.” And with that he started at a gallop towards the gate.
With a blasphemous ejaculation Moggridge sprang from behind his tree, and set off down the drive in hot pursuit.
Lady Alicia screamed, “Stop! stop! Francis—I mean, Mr Beveridge; stop, please!”
But the favorite of the crack regiment, despite the lady’s saddle, sat his steed well, and rapidly left cries and footsteps far behind. The lodge was nearly half a mile away, and as the avenue wound between palisades of old trees, the shouts became muffled, and when he looked over his shoulder he saw in the stretch behind him no sign of benefactress or pursuer. By continued exhortations and the point of his penknife he kept his horse at full stretch; round the next bend he knew he should see the gates.