“No,” she answered.  “It seems that the drivers of the coach lost their way.  The horses were poor beasts, and, owing to many halts on the road, our progress was slow.  When I first entered the house, an old woman led me to the room in which you found me.  The ropes on my wrists and ankles had been removed soon after I left London, but I was not allowed to remove the cloak until after the old woman had closed the door on me.  Then I sat down so stunned that I could hardly think.  But it seemed only a few minutes till I heard dear, brave Betty at the window.  You must have come rapidly.”

When we told Frances our side of the story, how Betty had come to Whitehall to see me and had been the real leader throughout it all, Frances leaned forward and kissed the girl, saying:—­

“God bless her, and you, too, Baron Ned.  She is worthy of you, and you have my consent.”

In further discussing Frances’s journey, she said that the men who were with her in the coach were masked and that she did not know them, but she was sure neither was the king.  They did not speak, save to tell the driver to travel slowly to avoid reaching the house too far ahead of the “other coach.”

The other coach, which Frances said she heard enter the gate, arrived not more than ten minutes before we reached Merlin House, and it is probable that we were undisturbed in our rescue because of the fact that supper was in progress.

It was nearly three o’clock by George’s watch when we reached the dark clump of houses standing west of Covent Garden, and within less than half an hour we were in the cozy courtyard of the Old Swan.

Pickering was waiting for us, having kept vigil alone since midnight.  When he saw me carrying Betty from the coach, he ran to us with a cry and snatched her from my arms.  We followed him into the house where we found him weeping over the girl, and kissing her hands as she lay on a bench near the fire.

“What have you been doing?  Have you killed my little girl?” he asked sorrowfully.

“I hope not, Pickering,” I answered.  “She had a fall of not more than eight or ten feet, and although I fear she is hurt, I am sure the injury is not serious, as I caught her and broke the fall.”

“Let us take her to bed,” suggested Frances.

George went to fetch Doctor Price, the surgeon, and I carried Betty upstairs.  I laid her on the bed, and after I had talked a few minutes with Pickering, explaining to him the events of the night, and telling him of Betty’s glorious part in our success, I went downstairs to wait in the tap-room for George and the surgeon.

Presently they came, and George and I followed the surgeon to Betty’s door, where we waited in the hallway outside to hear his report.  Presently Frances came out to tell us that Betty’s injuries were no greater than a few sprains and bruises, and that the surgeon said she would be well in a few days.