"Dear me; is it so, sir? And you were in her ladyship's company when she was stopped, I suppose, sir?"
"I? Not at all, or it would not have happened. I've never set eyes on her."
"Her servants fetched you then?"
"Her woman did! I've seen no more of them."
The vicar pricked up his ears. "Nor the carriage?" he ventured.
"Not I. Hasn't she got the carriage with her?"
Mr. Michieson rubbed his head. "No," he said slowly; "no, she has not. Do I understand then, sir, that--that you are yourself a complete stranger to the parties?"
"I? Totally. But here's her woman. She can tell you about it. Oh, you need not look at me," Tom continued with a grin, as the vicar, startled by the sight of the handsome gipsy-like girl, looked at him dubiously. "She's a pretty piece, I know, to be straying the country, but I'm not in fault. I never set eyes on the little witch until last night." And then, "Here, child," he cried, waving his hat to her, "I've news! Your lady is at the parson's, and all's well! Now you can thank me that I did not let you go into the smallpox."
Lady Betty clasped her hands. Her face was radiant. "Are you sure? Are you quite sure?" she cried, her voice trembling. "Are you sure she is safe?"
"She is quite safe," Mr. Michieson answered slowly; and he looked in wonder from one to the other. There was something suspiciously alike in their tumbled finery, their dishevelled appearance. "I was even now on my way," he continued, "to Coke Hall to convey the news to Sir Hervey."