"Fear?" exclaimed Sir George.
"Well, hope, then," said the lady; and a tear trickled down her face in a moment. "But if you do, promise me, on your honor as a gentleman, not to affront him. For I know you think him a villain."
"A d——d villain, saving your presence."
"Well, sir, you have said it to me. Now promise me to say naught to him, but just this: 'Rose Gaunt's mother, she lies in Carlisle jail, to be tried for her life for murdering you. She begs of you not to let her die publicly upon the scaffold; but quietly at home, of her broken heart.'"
"Write it," said Sir George, with the tears in his eyes, "that I may just put it in his hand; for I can never utter your sweet words to such a monster as he is."
Armed with this appeal, and several minute instructions, which it is needless to particularize here, that stanch friend rode into Lancashire.
And next day the black horse justified his mistress's sagacity, and his own.
He seemed all along to know where he was going, and late in the afternoon he turned off the road on to a piece of green: and Sir George, with beating heart, saw right before him the sign of the "Packhorse," and, on coming nearer, the words
THOMAS LEICESTER.
He dismounted at the door, and asked if he could have a bed.