"They are on their way. They cannot be there yet."
"But where? Where?"
"Mr. Rising ordered a post-chaise to wait for him at ten o'clock."
"He left the gardens," said his lordship, "about that time. Go on."
"He ordered it at the Duke's Head. The postboy told the ostler his orders. He was to wait for Mr. Rising at 'The Travellers' Rest,' at Riffley Spring, on the way to Wootton."
"'The Travellers' Rest'? What kind of place is that?"
"It is a bad place, my lord—a villainous place—on a lonely road up and down which there is little travelling. It is a resort of pedlars, tinkers, and the like—gipsies, vagabonds, footpads, and rogues. It is no place for a young lady."
"It is not, indeed," said one of the gentlemen.
"Gentlemen," the landlady repeated, "ride after him! Ride after them! Oh! the sweet Miss Molly!"
"Are the horses ready?"