and kept it only by virtue of her early training. So strange was the encounter that she was almost certain that the new-comer cut her horse with his whip as he passed. How it was, she could not tell, except that her gallant black was off at a gallop, and she could scarcely have curbed him but for the interference of the rider of the piebald steed. He dashed along the road, riding across her path, and with wonderful dexterity caught her bridle rein, halting the runaway. Coming thus to a standstill, some twenty yards from the inn, Betty found herself face to face with the stranger, while behind them there was a great commotion, all the visitors at the tavern having run out to witness what they expected would be an accident. Intensely angry and with scarlet cheeks, Mistress Betty gazed haughtily at the cause of her misadventure. The rider of the piebald was a man far below average size, thin and wiry, with a small, dark face, grizzled hair and mustaches, and eyes of such keenness and so intensely black that they startled the observer,[61] saving their owner from any charge of insignificance. Insignificant he was not, in spite of his small stature and his plain garments, which were russet in color from his high riding-boots to his cloak, which he wore after the fashion of the Spaniards. Encountering now Mistress Carew’s indignant gaze, he took off his hat with elaborate courtesy and congratulated her on her safety as if he were unconscious of having had any part in the matter.

[59]

[60]

[61]

“It was fortunate that I came at the moment, fair mistress,” he said; and she noticed that he had a singular but not unpleasant voice. “You are riding too spirited an animal for a lady; let me recommend a gentler one to Sir Edmund.”

Betty started at the mention of Bedingfield’s name, but recollecting how well he was known in the neighborhood of Kimbolton, she thought it but folly to be surprised that the stranger knew to whose party she belonged.

“I thank you, sir,” she said, a little curtly; “the horse has never acted so before unless switched, and, indeed, I do not think he would have run had you ridden at a more moderate pace.”

“I grieve to think myself the cause of your discomfort, madam,” the stranger replied, but[62] with an amused smile. “Jack Kotch and I never go slow,” he added, turning his horse, and, to her 

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