CHAPTER VIII.
Miching Mallecho.
Sir Rowland, meantime, paced his chamber with a quick and agitated step.
He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself.

Not conceiving that his sister--feeble as she was, and yielding as she had ever shown herself to his wishes, whether expressed or implied--would depart without consulting him, he was equally surprised and enraged to hear the servants busied in transporting her to the carriage.

His pride, however, would not suffer him to interfere with their proceedings; much less could he bring himself to acknowledge that he had been in the wrong, and entreat Lady Trafford to remain, though he was well aware that her life might be endangered if she travelled by night.

But, when the sound of the carriage-wheels died away, and he felt that she was actually gone, his resolution failed him, and he rang the bell violently.
"My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared.
The man lingered.
"'Sdeath! why am I not obeyed ?" exclaimed the knight, angrily.

"I wish to overtake Lady Trafford.