"Wait—aye Bet, we'll wait a reasonable while, though 'tis torment to an eager lover. To-morrow morning we should reach Boulogne and in Boulogne you shall wed me and——"
My lady turned and scanned the long road behind.
"Ha—d'ye hear hoofs, Bet—a horseman?" My lady shook her head, but now Mr. Dalroyd grew silent and rode alert and watchful.
So they rode, staying only to change horses and on again; even when they paused for refreshment, Mr. Dalroyd spoke little except to urge haste and often would cross to door or window and stand there, head aslant, listening.
It was after they had changed horses for the last time that Mr. Dalroyd lifted his head suddenly and glared back over his shoulder as, faint and far, but plain to hear, came the rhythmic throb of galloping hoofs.
"Ha!" he exclaimed in a long-drawn breath. "Dost hear aught, Bet?"
"One gallops behind us!" said my lady faintly.
"Art wearied, sweetheart?"
"Nay—not very."
"Then ride—spur!"