“I would give my life for hers,” answered her father sorrowfully.  “And so would Mary, who loves her dearly, but alas! what can we do?  We cannot bring back John Johnstone.”

“You must send her away at once.  She must have change of air and scene.  At once, mark you, without an hour’s unnecessary delay.”

“You think it will do her good?”

“I think it the one chance of escaping fatal mischief.  See, I have a plan to propose.  Why not send her to Newbury to her aunt?  She is a sensible woman, and the house is full of children—­they will rouse her.”

“I will take her myself,” cried Mr. Ives.

“Nay, nay, that would defeat my object.  I want absolute change for her, change of thought, scene, companions.”

“But how manage it, if I may not go myself?”

“Squire Thornton rides to Newbury tomorrow with Sir Harry Clare, and he will willingly be her protector.”

“They ride?”

“Yes, it will do Betty good to ride, and old Isaac can follow with a valise full of clothes.”

“Tomorrow did you say?”

“Tomorrow at daybreak.”

“It shall be done.  God grant that it may do her good.”

The following morning, with many a tear and many a blessing Mr. Ives and his wife started Betty on her way.

She made no resistance, passively assented to all they wished.  When she was once more in the saddle, her spirits rose feverishly again.

Sir Harry Clare, riding by her side, felt the old fascination stealing over him again, the fascination that had well nigh broken Lady Rachel’s heart at Newbury last year.  Squire Thornton saw her bright color, and heard the old lively talk as of old, and thought how that time cures all things, and that perhaps in the days to come, his son might have a chance at last.

About half way on their journey the little party was joined by two gentlemen who reached the highway by a cross-road; they lived far from the Wancote neighbourhood.  The one Sir James Templemore, the other Mr. Mat Harding.

Squire Thornton was glad to meet with friends so rarely encountered; they had secrets together mayhap.  They saluted each other cordially, their greeting of Sir Harry Clare was more cold.

It was a gloomy windy day, and after the midday halt to bait their horses, the weather grew worse, a cold violent wind blew in their faces, now and then a driving shower of rain.

“Are you tired, Mistress Betty?” asked the squire.

“No, no, I enjoy the free fresh air, it gives me new life.”

“That is well,” he said, riding on well pleased.

The two cavaliers who attended Betty on each side were the new arrivals, both of whom appeared much struck by her exceeding beauty.

Now it seemed almost as if they entered into a cloud, so dark it became, so blinded were they by wind and a fresh storm of cold fine rain.  The horses grew subdued, they whinnied and held down their tails tightly.  It was very cold.