There was no sign of the Prince’s curricle and passing through the shrubberies Lord Dorrington came to the path beside the stream that he knew Alyna had taken.

He hurried into the wood and as he did so realised that the sky had become overcast.

A few moments later there was a heavy shower of rain and Lord Dorrington hoped that somewhere amongst the trees Alyna would have found shelter.

There was no sign of her. He rode further and further into the wood, until at last he drew his horse to a standstill and putting his hand to his mouth shouted,

“Alyna! Alyna!”

His deep voice seemed to echo amongst the trees. He stopped to listen, but there was no answer.

He called again and, when there was still silence, he started to zigzag between the trunks of the trees looking all the time for a glimpse of a white muslin gown.

The rain was persistent and, although Lord Dorrington called time after time, there was only the sound of dripping branches.

Finally, when he was wondering almost desperately what he should do, he found her.

She was crouching at the foot of a great oak tree, her face covered in her hands and her head bent forward onto her knees.

It was an attitude of abject despair.

Even as Lord Dorrington dismounted to go to her side, he saw the fiery glint of her hair silhouetted against the darkness of the trunk and thought how beautiful it was.

“Alyna!” He spoke her name very gently.

She did not move and he wondered if she had heard him.

“Alyna,” he said again, “I have come to take you home.”

“I – cannot go – back,” she said in a voice little above a whisper.

“The Prince has gone,” Lord Dorrington said quietly.

Slowly she raised her face. It was very pale and he could see the dark terror in her eyes.

“Did you – kill – him?” she asked.

“No, but I should have done so,” Lord Dorrington answered. “Come!”

He put out his hands. For a moment he thought that she was going to refuse his help and then she let him draw her to her feet.

“It’s very wet,” he said. “It would be quicker if we ride home.”

She looked at him almost blindly and he realised that she was not taking in what he was saying, but was lost in some terrible hell of fear.

Without trying to explain, he picked her up in his arms and set her on the saddle.

She swayed as if she might fall at any moment and hastily Lord Dorrington mounted behind her. Putting his left arm round her, he drew her close against him.

Just for a second he felt her resistance and knew that her body was rigid with terror. Then, with a little murmur like a child that has woken from a nightmare, she hid her face against his shoulder.