bowing, stood uncovered. Now he leaned against the flank of one of the
horses, in a tremor of vertigo which seized him as he stood. It was
perhaps the paleness of his face that gave determination to the issue.

"William," called the Lady Catharine Knollys, "open the door for Mr. Law
of Lauriston!"

The footman sprang to the ground and held open the door. Therefore, into
the coach stepped John Law and his brother, late of Edinboro', sometime
robbed and afoot, but now to come into London in circumstances which
surely might have been far worse.

John Law entered the coach with the dignity and grace of a gentleman
born. He bowed gravely as he took his seat beside his brother, facing
the ladies. Will Law sank back into the corner, not averse to rest. The
eyes of the two young women did not linger more upon the wounded man
than upon his brother. He, in turn, looked straight into their eyes,
courteously, respectfully, gravely, yet fearlessly and calmly, as
though he knew what power and possibilities were his. Enigma and
autocrat alike, Beau Law of Edinboro', one of the handsomest and
properest men ever bred on any soil, was surely a picture of vigorous
young manhood, as he rode toward Sadler's Wells, with two of the
beauties of the hour, and in a coach and four which might have been his
own.

Now all the sweet spring morning came on apace, and from the fields and
little gardens came the breath of flowers. The sky was blue. The languor
of springtime pulsed through the veins of those young creatures, those
engines of life, of passion and desire. Neither of the two women saw the
torn garb of the man before them. They saw but the curve of the strong