Chapter 17 - Page 2

way. It burst upon his mind that the dairyman, still
ignorant of the truth, had misinformed him. Heavier in his heart
than words can describe he turned Tony's drooping head, and resolved
to drag his way home.

But the horse was now so jaded that it was impossible to proceed far.
Having gone about half a mile back he came again to a small roadside
hamlet and inn, where he put up Tony for a rest and feed. As for
himself, there was no quiet in him. He tried to sit and eat in the
inn kitchen; but he could not stay there. He went out, and paced up
and down the road.

Standing in sight of the white way by which he had come he beheld
advancing towards him the horses and carriage he sought, now black
and daemonic against the slanting fires of the western sun.

The why and wherefore of this sudden appearance he did not pause to
consider. His resolve to intercept the carriage was instantaneous.
He ran forward, and doggedly waiting barred the way to the advancing
equipage.

The Baron's coachman shouted, but Jim stood firm as a rock, and on
the former attempting to push past him Jim drew his sword, resolving
to cut the horses down rather than be displaced. The animals were
thrown nearly back upon their haunches, and at this juncture a
gentleman looked out of the window. It was the Baron himself.

'Who's there?' he inquired.

'James Hayward!' replied the young man fiercely, 'and he demands his
wife.'

The Baron leapt out, and told the coachman to drive back out of sight
and wait for him.

'I was hastening to find you,' he said to Jim. 'Your wife is where
she ought to be, and where you ought to be also--by your own
fireside. Where's the other woman?'

Jim, without replying, looked incredulously into the carriage as it
turned. Margery was certainly not there. 'The other woman is
nothing to me,' he said bitterly. 'I used her to warm up Margery: I
have now done with her. The question I ask, my lord, is, what
business had you with Margery to-day?'

'My business was to help her to regain the husband she had seemingly
lost. I saw her; she told me you had eloped by the London road with
another. I, who have--mostly--had her happiness at heart, told her I
would help her to follow you if she wished. She gladly agreed; we
drove after, but could hear no tidings of you in front of us. Then I
took her--to your house--and there she awaits you. I promised to
send you to her if human effort could do it, and was tracking you for
that purpose.'

'Then you've been a-pursuing after me?'

'You and the widow.'

'And I've been pursuing after you and Margery! My noble lord, your
actions seem to show that I ought to believe you in this; and when
you say