“There is no trap set for us this time,” Barrington said.  “She may be in no need of help, in that case we ride on to Paris, and she will be none the wiser.  The plan is simple.  We stay here till dark.  I shall go back on foot, you will wait for me here with the horses.  An hour should suffice.  If she is in danger I must do what I can to help her.  It is impossible to say what action I shall take, but wait here for me, Seth, all night.  If I do not return by the morning, ride into Paris, inquire for Monsieur de Lafayette, and tell him what has happened.”

“Let me come with you, Master Richard.  We could tether the horses here.  It is most unlikely they would be found.”

“One man may go unnoticed where two could not,” Barrington returned.  “You must remain here, Seth.”

There was a point beyond which Seth never ventured to argue, not quickly reached, as a rule, for Richard valued his companion’s opinion and was ready to listen, but on this occasion it came almost at once.  Seth looked into his face, saw the fixed purpose in his eyes and the sudden set of the determined mouth, and said no more.  They talked presently of other things, but not a word of the business in hand until it was dark, and Barrington suddenly rose from the Stump of a tree on which he was seated.

“You quite understand, Seth.”

“Yes.  I shall let the sun get well up before I start for Paris.”

“I hope we shall start together,” said Richard, holding out his hand.

“Good fortune,” said Seth, as their hands were grasped for a moment.  Then Richard passed into the lane and turned along the Soisy road in the direction of the Lion d’Or.

The inn and its outbuildings stood back from the road, and isolated.  The village was beyond it, hidden by a turn in the road.  Two or three wooden tables stood on the space before the door, used no doubt on balmy summer evenings, but deserted to-night.  The sound of laughter and much talking came to Richard as he approached, and he stood for a moment under a tree by the roadside to look at the front of the building, at the windows through which the sound of merrymaking came, and at the windows above which showed no light.  Crossing the road, he found a gap in the hedge and went round to look at the back of the house.  There was a garden, mostly of vegetables and not ill kept, a low, wooden fence, broken down in one place, enclosing it from the field in which he stood.  A dim light came from two windows on the ground floor, but above every window was dark.  If Mademoiselle St. Clair were there she must be without lamp or candle, or the windows must be closely shuttered.  He took careful note of the back of the house and how the road lay in regard to it, for there was no knowing what difficulties the next few minutes might bring.  Then he went back to the front of the house, and approaching quietly, looked in at the window across which the curtains were only partially drawn.  He was prepared