His footsteps were unheard on the heavy road, and the elder lady’s back being towards him, he came up to her unawares.  She started with a little cry when she saw a stranger move towards her out of the gloom.  But perceiving at a second glance that he was only a boy, with nothing villainous about his appearance, she turned to him impulsively and, taking him by the sleeve, said: 

“There!  You see them!  The wretches!  They are drunk and pay no heed to me!  Can you part them?  I do not wish to be benighted on this heath.  The wretch uppermost is the coachman.”

“I might part them, perhaps,” said Desmond dubiously.  “Of course I will try, ma’am.”

“Sure I wouldn’t trust ’em, mamma,” called the younger lady from the horses’ heads.  “The man is too drunk to drive.”

“I fear ’tis so.  ’Tis not our own man, sir.  As we returned today from a visit to Taplow our coachman was trampled by a horse at Slough, and my husband stayed with him—­an old and trusty servant—­till he could consult a surgeon.  We found a substitute at the inn to drive us home.  But the wretch brought a bottle; he drank with the footman all along the road; and now, as you see, they are at each other’s throats in their drunken fury.  Sure we shall never get home in time for the rout we are bid to.”

“Shall I drive you to London, ma’am?” said Desmond, “’Twere best to leave the men to settle their differences.”

“But can you drive?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Desmond, with a smile.  “I am used to horses.”

“Then I beg you to oblige us.  Yes, let the wretches fight themselves sober.

“Phyllis, this gentleman will drive us; come.”

The girl—­a fair, rosy cheeked, merry-eyed damsel of fifteen or thereabouts—­left the horses’ heads and entered the carriage with her mother.  Desmond made a rapid examination of the harness to see that all was right; then he mounted the box and drove off.  The noise of the rumbling wheels penetrated the besotted intelligence of the struggling men; they scrambled to their feet, looked wildly about them, and set off in pursuit.  But they had no command of their limbs; they staggered clumsily this way and that, and finally found their level in the slimy ditch that flanked the road.

Desmond whipped up the horses in the highest spirits.  He had hoped for a lift in a farmer’s cart; fortune had favored him in giving him four roadsters to drive himself.  And no boy, certainly not one of his romantic impulses, but would feel elated at the idea of helping ladies in distress, and on a spot known far and wide as the scene of perilous adventure.

The carriage was heavy; the road, though level, was thick with autumn mud; and the horses made no great speed.  Desmond, indeed, durst not urge them too much, for the mist was thickening, making the air even darker than the hour warranted; and as the roadway had neither hedge nor wall to define it, but was bounded on each side by a ditch, it behooved him to go warily.