“Good God!” broke from the Duke.  “This within her hearing!  Good God!”

“In my belief ’twas a planned thing to make her lose her nerve,” said the young fellow. “’Tis my belief he would gloat over the killing of her, because she has disdained him.  Why is there not some man who hath the right to stop her—­I—­” his honest face reddened—­“what am I to dare to speak to such a lady in advice.  I know it was an impudence, and felt it one, your Grace, but I plucked up courage to—­to—­follow her home, and says I, bowing and as red as a turkey-cock, ’My lady, for the Lord’s sake give up this awfulness.  Think of them that love you.  Sure there must be some heart you would tear in two.  For God’s sake have pity on it wheresoever it be, though I beg your ladyship’s pardon, and ‘tis impudence, I know.’”

My lord Duke caught his hand and in the passionate gratitude of the grasp he gave it forgot his own strength and that Bob was not a giant also.

“God bless you!” he cried.  “God bless you!  You are a brave fellow!  I—­I am her kinsman and am grateful.  God bless you, man, and call on Gerald Mertoun for a friend’s service when you need it.”

And he strode away, leaving Bob Langton staring after him and holding his crushed hand tenderly, but feeling a glow at his heart, for ’tis not every day a careless, empty-pocketed young ensign is disabled by the grasp of a Duke’s hand, and given his friendship as the result of a mere artless impulse of boyish good-nature.

His Grace strode homeward and called Lexton to him.

“We go to England within an hour,” he said.  “We may remain there but a day.  Not a moment is to be lost.  ’Tis of most serious import.”

When he entered Osmonde House, on reaching the end of his journey, the first person he encountered was Mr. Fox, who had just come in from Hyde Park, where he had spent the morning.

“I have been there each day this week, your Grace,” he said, and his lips trembled somewhat as he wiped his brow.  “It hath seemed to me all the town hath been there.  I—­your Grace’s pardon—­but I could not stay away; it seemed almost a duty.  But I would gladly have been spared it.  The worst is over.”  And he wiped his brow again, his thin, clerical countenance pale.  “They say the horse is beat; but who knows when such a beast is safe, and at this moment she puts him through his paces, and they all look on applauding.”

His Grace had rung the bell.  “Bring Rupert,” he commanded.  “Rupert.”

And the beast was brought without delay—­as fiery a creature as the horse Devil himself, yet no demon but a spirited brute, knowing his master as his master knew himself; and my lord Duke came forth and flung himself upon him, and the creature sprang forward as if they had been one, and he felt in every nerve that his rider rode with heart beating with passion which was resolute to overleap every obstacle in its way, which had reached the hour when it would see none, hear of none, submit to none, but sweep forward to its goal as though ’twere wind or flame.