"The
horses have rested, I think, so with your permission we may proceed. I
know of a place where you may spend the night comfortably and be
refreshed for the rough journey to-morrow."
"To-morrow? How can I go on? I am alone," she cried, despairingly.
"Permit me to remind you that you are no longer alone. You have a ragged
following, your highness, but it shall be a loyal one. Will you re-enter
the coach? It is not far to the place I speak of, and I myself will
drive you there. Come, it is getting late, and your retinue, at least,
is hungry."
He flung open the coach door, and his hat swept the ground once
more. The light of a lantern played fitfully upon his dark, gaunt face,
with its gallant smile and ominous patch. She hesitated, fear entering
her soul once more. He looked up quickly and saw the indecision in her
eyes, the mute appeal.
"Trust me, your highness," he said, gravely, and she allowed him to hand
her into the coach.
A moment later he was upon the driver's box, reins in hand. Calling out
to his companions in a language strange to Beverly, he cracked the whip,
and once more they were lumbering over the wretched road. Beverly sank
back into the seat with a deep sigh of resignation.
"Well, I'm in for it," she thought. "It doesn't matter whether they are
thieves or angels, I reckon I'll have to take what comes.
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