Yet to such purpose did she talk, that when that evening, as Crispin waited by the coach he had taken, in the hollow of the road, he saw approaching him a portly, middle-aged dame with a valise.

This was Cynthia's woman, and Cynthia herself was not long in following, muffled in a long, black cloak.
He greeted her warmly--affectionately almost yet with none of the rapture to which she held herself entitled as some little recompense for all that on his behalf she left behind.
Urbanely he handed her into the coach, and, after her, her woman.

Then seeing that he made shift to close the door: "How is this ?" she cried.

"Do you not ride with us ?" He pointed to a saddled horse standing by the roadside, and which she had not noticed.
"It will be better so.

You will be at more comfort in the carriage without me.