“Oh! an Oxonian,” cried the Duke, “and doubtless now upon your way to London.  But how is this, my young friend, you are in midst of term time!”

Wilton smiled at the somewhat authoritative and parental tone assumed by the old gentleman.  “The fact is, my Lord Duke,” he said, “that I am obliged to absent myself, but not without permission.  The illness of my best friend, the Earl of Sunbury, and his approaching departure for Italy, oblige me to go to London now to see him before he departs.”

“Oh, the Earl of Sunbury, the Earl of Sunbury,” replied the Duke:  “a most excellent man, and a great statesman, one on whom all parties rely.* That alters the case, my young friend; and indeed, whatever might be the cause of your absence from Alma Mater, we have much to thank that cause for your gallant assistance—­especially my poor girl here.  Let me shake hands with you—­and now we must think of what is to be clone next, for it is well nigh dark:  the carriage is broken by those large stones which they must have put in the way, doubtless, to stop us; and it is hopeless to think of getting on farther to-night.”

[Footnote:  Let it be remarked that this was not the Earl of Sunderland, of whom the exact reverse might have been said.]

“Hopeless, indeed, my lord,” replied Sir John Fenwick; “but your grace must have passed on the way hither a little inn, about half a mile distant, or somewhat more.  There I intended to sleep to-night, and most probably my young friend, too, for his horse seems as tired as mine.  If your grace will follow my advice, you would walk back to the inn, make your servants take everything out of the carriage, and send some people down afterwards to drag it to the inn-yard till to-morrow morning.”

“It is most unfortunate!” said the Duke, who was fond of retrospects.  “We sent forward the other carriage about three hours before us, in order that the house in London might be prepared when we came.”

The proposal of Sir John Fenwick, however, was adopted; and after giving careful and manifold orders to his servants, the Duke took his way back on foot towards the inn, conversing as he went with the Knight.  His daughter followed with Wilton Brown by her side; and for a moment or two they went on in silence; but at length seeing her steps not very steady over the rough road upon which they were, Wilton offered his left arm to support her, having the bridle of his horse over the right.

She took it at once, and he felt her hand tremble as it rested on his arm, which was explained almost at the same moment.  “It is very foolish, I believe,” she said, in a low, sweet voice, “and you will think me a terrible coward, I am afraid; but I know not how it is, I feel more terrified and agitated, now that this is all over, than I did at the time.”