He had barely ridden a couple of furlongs, though, before his horse became restive, and in response to a free application of both whip and spur only pricked up its ears and advanced in a more unsatisfactory manner than before.

Still suspecting nothing, the baron applied the whip more vigorously.  He perceived, clearly enough, that his charger was frightened at something or other, and to inspire it with a little of his own courage he started to whistle a lively tune which he had heard Dorothy play upon the spinet till he got it well by heart.

The tune was never finished, for barely had he begun it when the branch of a tree, which was hurled at him from the side of the road, completely unhorsed him and sent him rolling into the ditch on the other side.

Before he could rise or place himself in any posture of defence he was roughly seized, and in spite of his struggles was carried away as helpless as a child, whilst to aggravate his position his eyes were tightly blindfolded.

“What does this mean?” he shouted out in desperation; but no one deigned to answer.

“I am Sir George Vernon,” he added stoutly, but if he had thought that this was information, or that his captors would be inclined to quake before this declaration of his rank and person, he was sorely mistaken, and the brief answer they returned soon convinced him on the point.

“We know it,” they laughed; “we are no fools.”

“Nathan Grene,” he passionately shouted, “you shall rue this day.”  He no longer wondered now at the non-appearance of his adversary; he felt confident that the recreant smith was there, and the thought of being thus within his power goaded him into a frenzy of passion.

“Thou shalt live to rue this bitterly,” he repeated, but before he could say anything further his mouth was filled with grass, and in spite of his attempts to speak he could no longer succeed in making himself heard.

How far he was being carried he knew not, nor yet did he know the way; and beyond making a few desultory attempts to disengage his nether limbs from the vice-like grasp in which they were enclosed, the baron made no further attempts to free himself.

It was quite dark before they stopped, and when his bandages were taken off he had only sufficient time to discover that they had halted at the mouth of a cave before his captors seized hold of his person and unceremoniously pushed him in, sending, after a brief consultation, one of their number after him to see that he made no effort to escape.

“Where is Nathan Grene?” inquired the outraged nobleman, as soon as he found himself at liberty; “I want to see him.”

“Happen you do!” replied his keeper, who was none other than the ostler; “then, maybe, you will find him at London.  You were near enough to him in the stable loft; maybe he is out of the stocks again now.”

“Don’t talk with him,” commanded an imperious voice from the exterior, “or he will be taking you unawares.”