A second later there was a shock as Crispin's horse dashed into his, and a crushing blow across the forehead, which Galliard delivered with the hilt of his rapier, sent him hurtling from the saddle.

His comrade clapped spurs to his horse at that and was running a race with the night wind in the direction of Denham.
Before Cynthia quite knew what had happened the seat on the pillion in front of her was empty, and she was riding back to Stafford with Crispin beside her, his hand upon the bridle of her horse.
"You little fool!" he said half-angrily, half-gibingly; and thereafter they rode in silence--she too mortified with shame and anger to venture upon words.
That journey back to Stafford was a speedy one, and soon they stood again in the inn-yard out of which she had ridden but an hour ago.
Avoiding the common room, Crispin ushered her through the side door by which she had quitted the house.

The landlord met them in the passage, and looking at Crispin's face the pallor and fierceness of it drove him back without a word.
Together they ascended to the chamber where in solitude she had spent the day.

Her feelings were those of a child caught in an act of disobedience, and she was angry with herself and her weakness that it should be so.

Yet within the room she stood with bent head, never glancing at her companion, in whose eyes there was a look of blended anger and amazement as he observed her.