Throughout the night they went rumbling on their way at a pace
whose sluggishness elicited many an oath from Crispin as he
rode a few yards in the rear, ever watchful of the possibility
of pursuit. But there was none, nor none need he have feared,
since whilst he rode through the cold night, Gregory Ashburn
slept as peacefully as a man may with the fever and an evil
conscience, and imagined his dutiful daughter safely abed.

With the first streaks of steely light came a thin rain to
heighten Crispin's discomfort, for of late he had been overmuch
in the saddle, and strong though he was, he was yet flesh and
blood, and subject to its ills. Towards ten o'clock they
passed through Denham. When they were clear of it Cynthia put
her head from the window. She had slept well, and her mood was
lighter and happier. As Crispin rode a yard or so behind, he
caught sight of her fresh, smiling face, and it affected him
curiously. The tenderness that two days ago had been his as he
talked to her upon the cliffs was again upon him, and the
thought that anon she would be linked to him by the ties of
relationship, was pleasurable. She gave him good morrow
prettily, and he, spurring his horse to the carriage door, was
solicitous to know of her comfort. Nor did he again fall
behind until Stafford was reached at noon. Here, at the sign
of the Suffolk Arms, he called a halt, and they broke their
fast on the best the house could give them.

Cynthia was gay, and so indeed was Crispin, yet she noted in
him that coolness which she accounted restraint, and gradually