IN THE SADDLE. 91 



saddle at the stable-door, and lie knew where the 

 mare stood. It would be best, he said, for me not to 

 compromise myself. After a firm grasp of the hand 

 the door was closed, and, poor fellow, he was again 

 out in the pitiless, pelting storm, the pursuers barely 

 an hour behind him men eager for his life, for they 

 knew they could never take him alive. But what 

 cared Boyle ? He was devoted to his country ; and 

 in her service, like thousands of his fellows, he would 

 make any sacrifice. 



f If a stranger had been moving about my pre- 

 mises, every canine I possessed would have warned 

 me ; but they recognised their old friend, and with 

 many caresses crowded around him. Throwing my- 

 self into my arm-chair, I sat and thought. The 

 minutes appeared like hours till I heard the clatter of 

 Fanny's feet announcing that my friend was in the 

 saddle. By degrees the noise grew more indistinct, 

 ultimately dying away, and I breathed more freely ; 

 but my respite was short, for soon afterwards a 

 veteran hound of mine, deaf as a post from age, gave 

 tongue, and I knew at once that the old scoundrel was 

 following the trail of him with whom he had so often 

 hunted. Nothing, I was aware, would call him back, 

 for often he had practised the same trick on others, 

 and I feared his deep mellow note would attract 

 attention to the hard-riding horseman. 



' Thirty-six hours afterwards the mare returned, 

 and the hound with her, both appearing little the 

 worse for their trip. 



