Just before dark, as we neared the rendezvous, Mary and I managed to ride ahead of the party quite a distance.  At last we saw a heron rise, and the princess uncapped her hawk.

“This is my chance,” she said; “I will run away from you now and lose myself; keep them off my track for five minutes and I shall be safe.  Good-bye, Edwin; you and Jane are the only persons I regret to leave.  I love you as my brother and sister.  When we are settled in New Spain we will have you both come to us.  Now, Edwin, I shall tell you something:  don’t let Jane put you off any longer.  She loves you; she told me so.  There!  Good-bye, my friend; kiss her a thousand times for me.”  And she flew her bird and galloped after it at headlong speed.

As I saw the beautiful young form receding from me, perhaps forever, the tears stood in my eyes, while I thought of the strong heart that so unfalteringly braved such dangers and was so loyal to itself and daring for its love.  She had shown a little feverish excitement for a day or two, but it was the fever of anticipation, not of fear or hesitancy.

Soon the princess was out of sight, and I waited for the others to overtake me.  When they came up I was greeted in chorus:  “Where is the princess?” I said she had gone off with her hawk, and had left me to bring them after her.  I held them talking while I could, and when we started to follow took up the wrong scent.  A short ride made this apparent, when I came in for my full share of abuse and ridicule, for I had led them against their judgment.  I was credited with being a blockhead, when in fact they were the dupes.

We rode hurriedly back to the point of Mary’s departure and wound our horns lustily, but my object had been accomplished, and I knew that within twenty minutes from the time I last saw her, she would be with Brandon, on the road to Bristol, gaining on any pursuit we could make at the rate of three miles for two.  We scoured the forest far and near, but of course found no trace.  After a time rain set in and one of the gentlemen escorted the ladies home, while three of us remained to prowl about the woods and roads all night in a soaking drizzle.  The task was tiresome enough for me, as it lacked motive; and when we rode into Berkeley Castle next day, a sorrier set of bedraggled, rain-stained, mud-covered knights you never saw.  You may know the castle was wild with excitement.  There were all sorts of conjectures, but soon we unanimously concluded it had been the work of highwaymen, of whom the country was full, and by whom the princess had certainly been abducted.

The chaperons forgot their gout and each other, and Jane, who was the most affected of all, had a genuine excuse for giving vent to her grief and went to bed—­by far the safest place for her.

What was to be done?  First we sent a message to the king, who would probably have us all flayed alive—­a fear which the chaperons shared to the fullest extent.  Next, an armed party rode back to look again for Mary, and, if possible, rescue her.