But when he appeared in the doorway she read the good news in his face.  He made his way briskly towards her, the prisoners falling back to give passage.

“Right; it has come,” he said.  “Trot away home and have the valises packed, while I run into ‘The Dogs’ and order the chaise.”

Once clear of the town, she galloped.  There was little need to hurry, for her own valise had been packed overnight.

Having sent Mudge to attend to her brother’s, she ran to Narcissus’ room—­his scriptorium, as he called it.

Narcissus was at home to-day, busy with the cellar accounts.  He took stock twice a year and composed a report in language worthy of a survey of the Roman Empire.  Before he could look up, Dorothea had kissed him on the crown of his venerable head.

“Such news, dear!  Endymion has ordered a chaise from ‘The Dogs,’ and is going to take me to Dartmoor!”

“Dartmoor—­God bless my soul!” He rubbed his head, and added with a twinkle:  “Why, what have you been doing?”

“Endymion has a cartel of exchange for M. Raoul, and we are to carry it.”

“Ah, so that is what you two have been conspiring over?  I smelt a rat somewhere.  But, really, this is delightful of you—­delightful of you both.  Only, why on earth should you be carrying the release yourselves, in this weather.”

“He is very ill,” said Dorothea, seriously.

“Indeed?  Poor fellow, poor fellow.  Still, that scarcely explains—­”

“And you will be good, and take your meals regularly when Mudge beats the gong?  And you won’t sit up late and set fire to the house?  But I must run off and tell everyone to take care of you.”

She kissed him again, and was half-way down the corridor before he called after her: 

“Dorothea, Dorothea! the drawings!”

“Ah, to be sure; I forgot,” she murmured, as he thrust the parcel into her hand.

“Forgot?  Forgot the drawings?  But, God bless my soul!—­”

He passed his hand over his grey hairs and stared down the corridor after her.

The roads were heavy to start, with, and beyond Chard they grew heavier.  At Honiton, which our travellers reached at midnight, it was snowing; and Dorothea, when the sleepy chamber-maid aroused her at dawn, looked out upon a forbidding world of white.  The postboys were growling, and she half feared that Endymion would abandon the journey for the day.  But if he lacked her zeal, he had the true Englishman’s hatred of turning back.  She, who had known him always for a master of men, learned a new awe of her splendid brother.  He took command; he cross-examined landlord and postboys, pooh-poohed their objections, extracted from them in half-a-dozen curt questions more information than, five minutes before, they were conscious of possessing, to judge from the scratching of heads which produced it; finally, he handed Dorothea into the chaise, sprang in himself, and closed discussion with a slam of the door.  They were driven off amid the salaams of ostler, boots, waiter, and two chambermaids, among whom he had scattered largess with the lordliest hand.