“Worse and worse,” thought Betty.  “A British officer—­kinsman of an earl—­oh, me, in what a coil am I enveloped!  But at least my father knows all, and he would not hold me disloyal.”

The coach bumped and jolted along, and finally came to a standstill, while Caesar’s voice was heard addressing some one.  Betty looked out of the window and behold a dismal prospect enough.  The bank shelved gradually down to the river, which at this point was narrow, and between them and the other shore stretched a mixture of snow and ice; she could distinguish the flat-bottomed boat used for ferrying purposes stuck fast almost in the middle of the stream.

“How are we to cross?” said Mrs. Seymour dolefully, looking down at her feet.  “I wish I had an extra pair of woolen stockings to pull over my shoes; the snow and ice will be cold walking.  What are they doing to the horses?”

“Will it please you to alight, madam?” said Geoffrey, springing from his saddle at the door of the coach.  “My men are of the opinion that the ice will not bear so much weight as your coach with you ladies and Caesar in it, but if you can mount your horses we can lead them and you can cross in safety.  Meanwhile Caesar can remain here to guard your property, and when my men fetch the horses back they can assist him to transport the coach to the other side.  I hope the plan meets your approbation.  It seems the only feasible one, provided you ladies can ride without a saddle.”

“Bless me,” cried Mrs. Seymour, “I shall surely slip off on the ice!  Betty here is a horsewoman, but, alas!  I am not.”

“Then we must contrive a way,” replied Geoffrey.  “If a blanket be strapped over my saddle I think you can sit on it.—­Caesar, put one of those blankets on my horse instead of yours.”

“Oh, that will do nicely; how kind you are, Captain Yorke.”

“Will the young lady be able to ride one of your horses?” asked Geoffrey, addressing Mrs. Seymour.

“I can ride anything,” said Betty hastily, “for my mare is”—­and then she bit her lip and colored brightly as Geoffrey turned toward her.

“You will be quite safe, for I shall lead your horse myself.  Let me first attend Mrs. Seymour.”

Between terror and small gasps of laughter Mrs. Seymour’s mounting was accomplished, and then Geoffrey (artful fellow!) summoned a tall, good-looking trooper from the patrol, and, placing the reins in Mrs. Seymour’s hand, gave directions to the man.

“You will hold the horse by the bridle and guide every step with care, letting the lady put her hand on your shoulder to steady herself.  Be watchful of the air-holes; I think you know the path well.”

“Yes, captain,” said the trooper, saluting respectfully.  “Am I to dismount the lady at the Inn?”