“We would leave her to her vengeance, child, whiles thou and I——” Sir John paused suddenly to listen. “Rose,” said he, “d’ye hear aught?” And presently, sure enough, above the never-ceasing rumble of wheels, creaking of springs and jingle of harness, they distinguished the rhythmic throb of oncoming, galloping hoofs.
“Horsemen!” she exclaimed.
“One!” he corrected. “And do not be alarmed, it may be a friend—and yet it may not!”
Saying which, Sir John reached down one of his pistols from the slings and, lowering the window, leaned out.
The moon was sinking, but by her diminished light he descried a solitary horseman who galloped hard in the dust of their wheels, and, dim-seen though he was in consequence, it needed but one glance at his height and width to reassure Sir John, who immediately called to his driver to stop; and very soon the horseman was alongside.
“What—Hector!” exclaimed Sir John joyously. “So you’ve caught us, have ye? A thousand welcomes!”
“Welcomes, is it?” quoth Sir Hector, reining nearer and shaking dust from every fold of his riding-cloak. “Welcomes whateffer—an’ me nigh choked wi’ your dust, and ye’sel’ up tae a’ manner o’ deevilish ploys and riots—an’ wounded gentlemen cursin’ theirsel’s intae fevers all along the road, and a’ on your account, Master John Derwent!”
“Nay, merely one gentleman—of sorts, Hector! I had the fortune to meet with my Lord Sayle, who was somewhat ill-mannered——”
“Aye, but didna ye tak’ the man’s post-horses?”
“I perceive you ha’ heard something of the matter, Hector.”