They did not escape unobserved, and within a short time of their departure from the hotel, were being tracked by friend and foe. The ostler attached to the hotel saw the woman stealing away, and noted the direction they took; and when Ned Chester drove to the "Empire" and heard with dismay of the flight, the ostler turned an honest penny by directing him on their road. He turned more than one honest penny on this--to him--fortunate night. Richards, who had made himself fully acquainted with Ned's movements, arrived at the hotel, in company with Arthur Temple, a few minutes after the runaway thief left it, and had no difficulty in obtaining the information he required.

"Two birds with one stone, sir," he said to Arthur; "we shall catch the thief and save the girl."

"We may be too late if we go afoot," said Arthur; "every moment is precious. Now, my man," to the ostler, "your fastest horse and your lightest trap. A guinea for yourself if they are ready without delay; another guinea if we overtake the persons we are after."

"I'll earn them both, sir," cried the ostler, running to the stable door. "You go into the hotel and speak to the missis."

No sooner said than done. Before the horse was harnessed, the landlady had been satisfied.

"My name is Temple," said Arthur to her in a heat, after the first words of explanation. "Here is my card, and here is some money as a guarantee. It is a matter of life and death, and the safety of an innocent girl hangs upon the moments."

His excitement communicated itself to the landlady, who was won by his good looks and his enthusiasm, and she herself ran out to expedite the matter. They were soon on the road, but not soon enough to prevent Ned Chester from having more than a fair start of them.

Richards, who held the reins, needed no such incentive to put on the best speed as his young master's impatience unremittingly provided. As rapidly as possible the horse ploughed its way through the heavy snow. Their course lay beyond the railway station, and as they passed it the few passengers by a train which had just arrived were emerging from the door. To Arthur Temple's surprise Richards, whose lynx eyes were watching every object, suddenly pulled up in the middle of the road.

"Hold the reins a moment, sir," he said jumping from the conveyance; "here's somebody may be useful."

He had caught sight of two faces he recognised, those of Sally and Seth Dumbrick.

"Have you come here after the Duchess?" he asked, arresting his steps.

"Yes. Oh! yes," answered Sally, in amazement. Richards pulled her towards the conveyance, and Seth followed close at her heels.

"Jump in," said Richards, who by this time was fully enjoying the adventure. "I'll take you to her. Don't stop to ask questions; there's no time to answer them."

Seth hesitated, but a glance at Arthur's truthful, ingenuous face dispelled his doubts, and he mounted the conveyance with Sally, and entered into earnest conversation with the young man.

Mrs. Lenoir, when she stole with the Duchess through the streets of Sevenoaks, had but one object in view--to escape from the town into the country, where she believed they would be safe from pursuit. Blindly she led the way until she came to the country. Fortunately at about this time the snow ceased to fall, and the exciting events of the night rendered her and the Duchess oblivious to the difficulties which attended their steps. So unnerved was the Duchess by what had occurred that she was bereft of all power over her will, and she allowed herself unresistingly, and without question, to be led by Mrs. Lenoir to a place of safety and refuge. They encouraged each other by tender words and caresses, and Mrs. Lenoir looked anxiously before her for a cottage or farmhouse, where they could obtain shelter and a bed. But no such haven was in sight until they were at some distance from the town, when the devoted woman saw a building which she hoped might prove what she was in search of. As they approached closer to the building she was undeceived; before her stood a quaint old church, with a hooded porch, and a graveyard by its side. A sudden faintness came upon her as she recognised the familiar outlines of the sacred refuge in which her child was born; but before the full force of this recognition had time to make itself felt, her thoughts were wrested from contemplation of the strange coincidence by sounds of pursuing shouts.

Her mother's fears, her mother's love, interpreted the sounds aright, and she knew that they proceeded from the man from whom they were endeavouring to escape. Seizing the Duchess's arm, she flew towards the porch, and reaching it at the moment Ned Chester overtook them, thrust the girl into the deeper shadows, and stood before her child with flashing eyes with her arms spread out as a shield.

"So!" cried Ned Chester, panting and furious; "a pretty trick you have played me! Serve me right for trusting to such a woman!"

He strove to push her aside, so that he might have speech with the Duchess, and Mrs. Lenoir struck him in the face. He laughed at the feeble blow--not lightly, but mockingly. The savage nature of the man was roused. He raised his hand to return the blow, when the Duchess stepped forward and confronted him. His arm dropped to his side.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, endeavouring to convey some tenderness in his tone. "What has this creature been telling you? She has been poisoning your mind against me, if I'm a judge of things. Come, be reasonable; take my arm, and let us return to the hotel."

But his power over the girl was gone; the brutality of his manner was a confirmation of the story she had heard of his treachery towards her.

"Mr. Chester," she said--and paused, frightened at the change which came over him at the utterance of his name. His face grew white, and an ugly twitching played about his lips.

"What have you heard?" he demanded hoarsely.

She mustered sufficient strength to reply faintly.

"The truth."

His savage nature mastered him. With a cruel sweep of his arm, he dashed Mrs. Lenoir to the ground, and clasped the Duchess in a fierce embrace. Her shrieks pierced the air.

"Help! Help!"

Her appeal was answered, almost on the instant. An iron grasp upon his neck compelled him to relinquish his hold of the terrified girl. Seth Dumbrick held him as in a vice and he had no power to free himself. The warning voice of Richards was needed to put a limit to the strong man's just resentment:

"Don't hurt him any more than is necessary, Mr. Seth Dumbrick. There's a rod in pickle for him worse than anything you can do to him."

"Lie there, you dog!" exclaimed Seth, forcing Ned Chester to the ground, and placing his foot upon his breast. "Stir an inch, and I will kill you!"

While this episode in the drama was being enacted, another of a different kind was working itself out. When the Duchess was released by Ned Chester, Arthur Temple threw his arm around her, to prevent her from falling.

"Do not be frightened," he said, in a soothing tone, "you are safe now. I am glad we are in time. My name is Arthur Temple."

They gazed at each other in rapt admiration. To Arthur, the beauty of the Duchess was a revelation. In the struggle with Ned Chester, her hat had fallen from her head, and her hair lay upon her shoulders in heavy golden folds. Her lovely eyes, suffused with tears, were raised to his face in gratitude. For a moment she was blind to everything but the appearance of this hero, who, as it seemed to her fevered fancy, had descended from Heaven to rescue her. But a cry of compassion from Sally brought her back to earth, and, turning, she saw her faithful nurse and companion kneeling in the snow, with Mrs. Lenoir's head in her lap. She flew to her side, and tremblingly assisted Sally in her endeavour to restore the insensible woman to life. But the blow which Ned Chester had dealt Mrs. Lenoir was a fierce one; she lay as one dead, and when, after some time, she showed signs of life, she feebly waved her hands, in the effort to beat away a shadowed horror, and moaned:

"Will he never come? Will he never come?"

She was living the past over again. Her mind had gone back to the time when, assisted by John, the gardener of Springfield, she had travelled in agony through the heavy snow, to implore the man who had betrayed and deserted her to take pity on her hapless state, and to render her some kind of human justice, if not for her sake, for the sake of his child, then unborn. And the thought which oppressed her and filled her with dread at that awful epoch of her life, now found expression on her lips:

"Will he never come? Oh, my God! will he never come?"

"Do you think," whispered Arthur Temple to Seth Dumbrick, who had given Ned Chester into Richards' charge, "that we might raise her into the trap, and drive her slowly to the town?"

The tender arms about her desisted from their effort as she moaned:

"If you raise me in your arms, I shall die! If you attempt to carry me into the town, I shall die!"

The very words she had spoken to John on that night of agony. And then again:

"Will he never come? If he saw me, he would take pity on me! Send him to me, kind Heaven!"

Another actor appeared upon the scene,--Mr. Temple, who, accompanied by the ostler, had found his way to the spot.

"Arthur!" he cried.

The young man rose at once to his feet, and went to his father.

Mr. Temple, in the brief glance he threw around him, saw faces he recognised; saw Richards guarding Ned Chester, saw Seth Dumbrick and Sally, saw, without observing her face, Mrs. Lenoir lying with her head on the Duchess's bosom. He did not look at them a second time. His only thought was of Arthur, the pride and hope of his life, the one being he loved on earth.

&qu............