And with all, the labour seemed to be wasted.  With wrath and a volley of curses he saw the lights of Chippenham appear in front, and still no sign of the pursued.  Five minutes later the carriage awoke the echoes in the main street of the sleeping town, and Mr. Thomasson drew a deep breath of relief as it came to a stand.

Not so Mr. Pomeroy.  He dashed the door open and sprang out, prepared to overwhelm the driver with reproaches.  The man anticipated him.  ’They are here,’ he said with a sulky gesture.

‘Here?  Where?’

A man in a watchman’s coat, and carrying a staff and lanthorn—­of whom the driver had already asked a question—­came heavily round, from the off-side of the carriage.  ’There is a chaise and pair just come in from the Melksham Road,’ he said, ’and gone to the Angel, if that is what you want, your honour.’

‘A lady with them?’

‘I saw none, but there might be.’

‘How long ago?’

‘Ten minutes.’

‘We’re right!’ Mr. Pomeroy cried with a jubilant oath, and turning back to the door of the carriage, slipped the pistols into his skirt pockets.  ‘Come,’ he said to Thomasson.  ‘And do you,’ he continued, addressing his driver, who was no other than the respectable Tamplin, ’follow at a walking pace.  Have they ordered on?’ he asked, slipping a crown into the night-watchman’s hand.

‘I think not, your honour,’ the man answered.  ’I believe they are staying.’

With a word of satisfaction Mr. Pomeroy hurried his unwilling companion towards the inn.  The streets were dark; only an oil lamp or two burned at distant points.  But the darkness of the town was noon-day light in comparison of the gloom which reigned in Mr. Thomasson’s mind.  In the grasp of this headstrong man, whose temper rendered him blind to obstacles and heedless of danger, the tutor felt himself swept along, as incapable of resistance as the leaf that is borne upon the stream.  It was not until they turned into the open space before the Angel, and perceived a light in the doorway of the inn that despair gave him courage to remonstrate.

Then the risk and folly of the course they were pursuing struck him so forcibly that he grew frantic.  He clutched Mr. Pomeroy’s sleeve, and dragging him aside out of earshot of Tamplin, who was following them, ‘This is madness!’ he urged vehemently.  ’Sheer madness!  Have you considered, Mr. Pomeroy?  If she is here, what claim have we to interfere with her?  What authority over her?  What title to force her away?  If we had overtaken her on the road, in the country, it might have been one thing.  But here—­’

‘Here?’ Mr. Pomeroy retorted, his face dark, his under-jaw thrust out hard as a rock.  ‘And why not here?’

‘Because—­why, because she will appeal to the people.’

‘What people?’

‘The people who have brought her hither.’

‘And what is their right to her?’ Mr. Pomeroy retorted, with a brutal oath.