“I mean,” Sir Miles continued bluntly, “that since your lordship has found favour in her eyes, your case cannot be hopeless.”
Lord Chudleigh raised my hand to his lips, with a sadness in his eyes of which I alone could discern the cause.
“Gentlemen,” I cried, “we waste the time in idle compliments. Mount and ride off as quickly as you may. As for me, it is but three miles across the Downs. I have no fear. I shall meet no one. Mount, I say, and ride to London without more ado.”
They obeyed; they left me standing alone. As my eyes turned from following them, they lighted on the pool of blood—Will’s blood, which reddened the turf—and upon the poor dead horse. Then I hastened back across the Downs.
It was a clear, bright evening, the sun yet pretty high. The time was about half-past five; before long the minuets would be beginning in the Assembly Rooms; yet Lady Levett would know—I hoped that she already knew—the dreadful wickedness of her son. Would not, indeed, all the company know it? Would not the assault on Mr. Stallabras and on Nancy be noised abroad?
Indeed, the news had already sped abroad.
Long before I reached the edge of the Downs. I became aware of a crowd of people. They consisted of the whole company, all the visitors at Epsom, who came forth, leaving the public tea and the dance, to meet the girl who had been thus carried away by force.
Harry Temple came forward as soon as I was in sight to meet me. He was very grave.
“Kitty,” he said, “this is a bad day’s work.”
“How is Will? You have seen Will?”