As we rode Lord Rufton told me of the man whom
we were pursuing.
His name, it seems, was a household word throughout all England
for every sort of mischief. Wine, women, dice, cards, racing--in
all forms of debauchery he had earned for himself a terrible
name. He was of an old and noble family, and it had been hoped
that he had sowed his wild oats when he married the beautiful
Lady Jane Rufton.
For some months he had indeed behaved well, and then he had
wounded her feelings in their most tender part by some unworthy
liaison. She had fled from his house and taken refuge with her
brother, from whose care she had now been dragged once more,
against her will. I ask you if two men could have had a fairer
errand than that upon which Lord Rufton and myself were riding.
"That's Gravel Hanger," he cried at last, pointing with his crop,
and there on the green side of a hill was an old brick and timber
building as beautiful as only an English country-house can be.
"There's an inn by the park-gate, and there we shall leave our
horses," he added.
Pages:
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195