Betty climbed in at the window, and presently the leathers fell at our feet.  In a moment she reappeared, put one foot out the window, hesitated, and called to me:—­

“I’m afraid, Baron Ned.  It seems so far, looking down.”

George started toward the coach with Frances, leaving me and one of the drivers to care for the girl who had saved our expedition from failure.

I could help Betty only by encouraging her, so I spoke softly:  “Be brave, Betty.  Go slowly.  Don’t lose your head.”

“It is not my head I fear to lose; it is my footing,” she answered, sitting on the window-sill, one foot hanging outside.

“But you must come, Betty,” I said encouragingly.  “Now say a little prayer to the Virgin, and you’ll be all right.”

I saw her bow her head and cross herself, and the prayer giving her strength, she climbed to the lower window coping and began her descent on the vine.  When halfway down she fell, and though I caught her, partly breaking her fall, I knew that she was hurt.  I helped her to her feet, and she said breathlessly:—­

“I’m all right.  I’m not hurt.”

But when we started toward the coach, she clung to me, limping, and began to cry from pain.  When I saw that she was hurt, I caught her up in my arms and carried her to the coach, followed by the driver, bearing the reins and Betty’s hood, cloak, gloves, and boots.  Frances was already inside the coach, and George was about to follow her, when I came up with poor helpless Betty, and somewhat angrily ordered him to stand aside while I made her comfortable.  Frances began to soothe Betty, whose tears flowed afresh under the sympathy.  By the time George and I were in the coach, the drivers were on the box, but before we started one of them lifted the curtain and said:—­

“I hear them moving in the house.”

“Make the more haste,” I answered.

“Shan’t we stay for a fight, sir?” asked the driver, evidently disappointed.

“We’ll have it later on,” said George, and the next moment the coach was turned and we were on our homeward road.

When we reached the Oxford Road, the horses started at a smart gallop, and we began to hope that we had not been discovered by the inmates of Merlin House.  But soon we heard horses galloping behind us.  After a consultation, George and I concluded to stop the coach.  Frances and Betty were much alarmed, and begged us to try to escape by whipping the horses.  But I knew that our pursuers, being on horseback, would soon overtake us, and I was convinced that nothing could be gained by attempting flight.  I have seen a small dog stop a larger one by waiting for it.

So we waited, and when our pursuers, a half score of men on horseback, came up to us, we met them with a fusillade of powder and shot, which persuaded them to allow us to go our way and evidently made them content to go theirs, for we saw nothing more of them.