"How is this?" she cried. "Do you not ride with us?"

He pointed to a saddled horse standing by the roadside, and
which she had not noticed.

"It will be better so. You will be at more comfort in the
carriage without me. Moreover, it will travel the lighter and
the swifter, and speed will prove our best friend."

He closed the door, and stepped back with a word of command to
the driver. The whip cracked, and Cynthia flung herself back
almost in a pet. What manner of lover, she asked herself, was
thin and what manner of woman she, to let herself be borne away
by one who made so little use of the arts and wiles of sweet
persuasion? To carry her off, and yet not so much as sit
beside her, was worthy only of a man who described such a
journey as tedious. She marvelled greatly at it, yet more she
marvelled at herself that she did not abandon this mad
undertaking.

The coach moved on and the flight from Sheringham was begun.




CHAPTER XXV


CYNTHIA'S FLIGHT