She began to dread some breakdown which might delay her and
cause her to arrive too late.
"Shall we be in time?" she asked more than once, turning to Harriet
Payne.
"Yes, madam, you need have no fear. The assizes have not yet begun in
Dorchester."
Pursuit was behind, but it was the pursuit of a friend. Whether it was
the fault of the horseman or his mounts, disaster rode with Martin
Fairley. To begin with, his horse cast a shoe, and by the time a smith
was found and his work done, an hour had been wasted. Before the end of
the first stage the horse collapsed; there was considerable difficulty
in getting a remount, and the animal procured was a sorry beast for
pace. Martin fretted at the delay, and cursed the adverse fates which so
hindered him. Once he was within three miles of the coach, and then his
horse went dead lame. Hours were lost before he could get another horse
and resume the journey, and during those hours much might have happened.
The coach had left only an hour when he arrived at the inn at Witley.
"Yes, the travellers were a lady and her maid," the landlord told him.
"Going to Dorchester?" Martin asked.
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