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 and four at a time, and hurried out on to the drive, where the groom stood waiting with Jenny’s bridle over his arm. Carstares cast a hasty glance at the girths and sprang up. The mare sidled and fidgeted, fretting to be gone, but was held in with a hand of iron while her master spoke to the groom.

“You must drive Mr. Beauleigh to Andover Court as fast as you can. It is a matter of life and death. You know the way?”

The amazed groom collected his wits with difficulty.

“Roughly, sir.”

“That will do—Mr. Beauleigh will know. Drive your damnedest, man—Sir Miles won’t mind. You understand?”

Jack’s word was law in the O’Hara household.

“Yes, sir,” answered the man, and touched his hat.

On the word, he saw the beautiful straining mare leap forward, and the next moment both horse and rider were swallowed in the gloom.

“Well I’m—darned,” exploded the groom, and turned to fetch the curricle.

Across the stretch of moorland went Jack at a gallop, Jenny speeding under him like the wind, and seeming to catch something of her master’s excitement. Low over her neck he bent, holding the Duke’s sword across his saddle-bows with one hand and with the other guiding her. So he covered some three miles. He reined in then, and forced her to a canter, saving her strength for the long distance ahead of them. She was in splendid condition, glorying in the unrestrained gallop across the turf, and although she was too well-mannered to pull on the rein, Carstares could see by the eager twitching of her ears how she longed to be gone over the ground. He spoke soothingly to her and guided her on to the very lane where Diana had ridden that afternoon. She fell into a long, easy stride that seemed to eat up the ground. Now they were off the lane, riding over a field to join another road, leading west. A hedge cut them off, but the