The face of Will Law hardly offered complete proof of this assertion.  He had slept ill enough, and in the morning light his face showed gaunt and pale.  Here, then, was a situation most inopportune; the coach of two ladies, unattended, stopped by two strangers, who certainly could not claim introduction by either friend or reputation.

“I did but wish to ask some advice of the roads hereabout,” said the elder brother, turning his eyes full upon those of the Lady Catharine.  “As you see, we are in ill plight to get forward to the city.  If you will be so good as to tell me which way to take, I shall remember it most gratefully.  Once in the city, we should do better, for the rascals have not taken certain papers, letters which I bear to gentlemen in the city—­Sir Arthur Pembroke I may name as one—­a friend of my father’s, who hath had some dealings with him in the handling of moneys.  I have also word for others, and make sure that, once we have got into town, we shall soon mend our fortune.”

Lady Catharine looked at Mary Connynge and the latter in turn gazed at her.  “There could be no harm,” said each to the other with her eyes.  “Surely it is our duty to take them in with us; at least the one who is wounded.”

Will Law had said nothing, though he had come forward to the road, and, bowing, stood uncovered.  Now he leaned against the flank of one of the horses, in a tremor of vertigo which seized him as he stood.  It was perhaps the paleness of his face that gave determination to the issue.

“William,” called the Lady Catharine Knollys, “open the door for Mr. Law of Lauriston!”

The footman sprang to the ground and held open the door.  Therefore, into the coach stepped John Law and his brother, late of Edinboro’, sometime robbed and afoot, but now to come into London in circumstances which surely might have been far worse.

John Law entered the coach with the dignity and grace of a gentleman born.  He bowed gravely as he took his seat beside his brother, facing the ladies.  Will Law sank back into the corner, not averse to rest.  The eyes of the two young women did not linger more upon the wounded man than upon his brother.  He, in turn, looked straight into their eyes, courteously, respectfully, gravely, yet fearlessly and calmly, as though he knew what power and possibilities were his.  Enigma and autocrat alike, Beau Law of Edinboro’, one of the handsomest and properest men ever bred on any soil, was surely a picture of vigorous young manhood, as he rode toward Sadler’s Wells, with two of the beauties of the hour, and in a coach and four which might have been his own.