It appeared as if the chaise would never cease to lung and swagger over rough, unused roads, and when at last it did mend its way, Katherine had ceased thinking and fallen fast asleep, nor did she wake during hours of travel, until the great coach came to a sudden halt.  She looked through the window.  Dawn streaked the East with uncertain intention, knowing not whether to open the day with rain or sunshine.  A little to the left was the dark outline of an inn, nestling upon the threshold of a forest, from the window of which fell aslant the way a line of light.  The door of the equipage was opened, and a stately cavalier stood to assist her down the step.  She leapt lightly to the ground, taking the proffered arm, as the way was dark and uneven.

Within the large, cheery room they entered, burnt a crackling fire; for the morning was damp and chilly.  Katherine stole a glance at her companion and saw the handsome features of Monmouth.  He had removed his masque and now stood uncovered before her.

“I hope Mistress Penwick has not suffered from her long ride?”

“Nay, sir; on the contrary, I feel refreshed.”  Her manner told him plainly his address was not displeasing to her.  His eyes rested amorously upon her; for ’twas naught but strong, healthful youth could predicate such reply and vouch for its assertion by such rich colouring of cheek, such rare sparkling of eyes and such ripeness of lips.

She sat at the chimney-nook, her satin gown trailing at her side, her cloak thrown over the back of the high chair.  Their Graces were engaged aside with the landlord and servants.

“We will rest here until noon, anyway,” one said, “and if they have not arrived we will set out without them.”  Katherine heard and thought ’twas Constance whom they were expecting; and when a table was drawn close to the fire and covers laid for four, there being but three to sit down, Katherine looked askance at the vacant place; the Dukes exchanged glances and his Grace of Buckingham turned to her quickly, introducing himself, then Monmouth, and explained that at the last moment Lady Constance had been prevailed upon to accompany them to London and was expected every moment.

Mistress Penwick had flushed at the presentation of two such noble names, but at his following assertion, which corroborated with Constance’ own words, made her not a little jealous; for the handsome young Monmouth had already shown his regard (God pity her innocence) for Lady Constance by giving her a valuable ring, and now had contrived to make her of their party that he might be constantly with her.

She straightway became very sober-minded, vouchsafing no remarks and inviting none.  Her pique would have given way had she but heard the Duke’s conversation a few moments previous.

“Damme!” said young Monmouth, “I have kidnapped the wrong girl.  ’Tis not my fault; thou saidst, Duke, to take any pretty girl from Crandlemar castle, and I have captured Lady Constance, whom, I took it, was the girl in question; and I made up my mind thou shouldst not choose beauty for me.  I shall throw her on thy shoulders to dispose of.”