Cynthia's maid was awakened and bidden to rise.

The horses were harnessed to Crispin's coach, and Crispin, leaning upon Harry Foster's arm, descended and took his place within the carriage.
Leaving the London blood at the door of the Suffolk Arms, crushing, burning, damning and ratting himself at Crispin's magnificence, they rolled away through the night in the direction of Ipswich.
Ten o'clock in the morning beheld them at the door of the Garter Inn at Harwich.

But the jolting of the coach had so hardly used Crispin that he had to be carried into the hostelry.

He was much exercised touching the Lady Jane and his inability to go down to the quay in quest of her, when he was accosted by a burly, red-faced individual who bluntly asked him was he called Sir Crispin Galliard.

Ere he could frame an answer the man had added that he was Thomas Jackson, master of the Lady Jane--at which piece of good news Crispin felt like to shout for joy.
But his reflection upon his present position, when at last he lay in the schooner's cabin, brought him the bitter reverse of pleasure.