“Maybe so,” said Raymond, “but I would do anything rather than leave her mother in the distress you take so easily.”

“Besides, there’s every chance of her being taken to that low public-house,” said Cecil.  “One that Mr. Poynsett would not allow our servants to go to during the bazaar, though it is close to the town-hall, and all the others did.”

“Let us hope that early influence may prevent contamination,” solemnly said the friend.

Cecil turned from him.  “I still hope she may be at home,” she said; “it is getting very chill and foggy.  Raymond, I hope you may not have to go.”

“You must lie down and get thoroughly rested,” he said, as he helped her out; and only waiting to equip himself for the evening dance, he hurried to the stables to expedite the harnessing of the powerful and fiery steed which had as yet been only experimentally driven by himself and the coachman.

Rosamond was watching, and when King Coal was with difficulty pulled up, she made but one spring to the seat of the dog-cart; and Julius, who was tucking in the rug, had to leap back to save his foot, so instantaneous was the dash forward.  They went like the wind, Rosamond not caring to speak, and Raymond had quite enough on his hands to be glad not to be required to talk, while he steered through the numerous vehicles they met, and she scanned them anxiously for the outline of Emma’s hat.  At last they reached Wil’sbro’, where, as they came to the entrance of Water Lane, Rosamond, through the hazy gaslight, declared that she saw a tax-cart at the door of the ‘Three Pigeons,’ and Raymond, albeit uncertain whether it were the tax-cart, could only turn down the lane at her bidding, with difficulty preventing King Coal from running his nose into the vehicle.  Something like an infant’s cry was heard through the open door, and before he knew what she was about, Rosamond was on the pavement and had rushed into the house; and while he was signing to a man to take the horse’s head, she was out again, the gaslight catching her eyes so that they glared like a tigress’s, her child in her arms, and a whole Babel of explaining tongues behind her.  How she did it neither she nor Raymond ever knew, but in a second she had flown to her perch, saying hoarsely, “Drive me to Dr. Worth’s.  They were drugging her.  I don’t know whether I was in time.  No, not a word”—­(this to those behind)—­ “never let me see any of you again.”

King Coal prevented all further words of explanation by dancing round, so that Raymond was rejoiced at finding that nobody was run over.  They were off again instantly, while Rosamond vehemently clasped the child, which was sobbing out a feeble sound, as if quite spent with crying, but without which the mother seemed dissatisfied, for she moved the poor little thing about if it ceased for a moment.  They were soon within Dr. Worth’s iron gates, where Raymond could give the horse to a servant, help his sister-in-law down, and speak for her; for at first she only held up the phial she had clutched, and gazed at the doctor speechlessly.