*54 
THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 
what a supper mother used to give me, and 
how poor old dad used to grumble at her 
Tor spoiling me ! I never delivered a straighter 
blow than that. Well, T was up against it 
then. It was once for all. Poor hunted, 
starving beast/’ he continued, “ it was a bit 
hard on him, though. 1 hope they’ll catch 
him soon and give him a good feed when they 
do. After all, he was only playing the game. 
Heaven knows, 1 don’t blame him for fighting 
for freedom and life.” 
Swinging the piece of wood almost jauntily 
in his hand, for involuntarily he had retained 
his hold on it, Francis Denham was within 
a couple of hundred yards of his point of 
egress on to the road, which adjoined the local 
station, when another and most unexpected 
sound attracted his attention. 
During his progress over the hill lie had 
not encountered a single human being. A 
light rain was falling, and here the mist hung 
heavily, but the sound which struck upon 
his ear was the voice of a woman, evidently 
speaking to a young child. The voice was 
low and very sweet, and to the lonely man, 
peering through the misty vapour, it seemed 
actually beautiful after the storm and stress 
of the terrible day. 
In a minute the child also spoke, in a 
feeble treble which conveyed no meaning to 
him, but every word of the unseen woman’s 
reply fell like music on his straining senses. 
“ There’s nothing to be afraid of, Bessie. 
Mammy has her darling safe in her arms. 
The fairies wove that gauzy mist ; they are 
dancing on the grass under it. But they 
don’t like us big people to see them ; they 
are afraid we might want to pick them up 
and carry them off.” 
She halted a moment. She was evidently 
carrying the child, and the rising ground 
made the burden a heavy one. Again there 
came the faint, childish voice, and the quick, 
rather breathless reply : — 
“ I’m not tired, Bessie. Mammy’s darling 
never tires her, and soon you’ll be able to run 
by my side up all the big hills. The poor leg 
is growing stronger every day, and we shall 
he home very soon now. Just up to the top 
where the seats and the big lamp are, and down 
the other side, and then we shall beat home; 
and, oh ! won’t Bessie and mother enjoy 
their tea, after mother has boiled the kettle ? ” 
Still standing motionless, with a smile upon 
his face, Francis Denham heard the crunch of 
the soddened gravel beneath her labouring 
footsteps, but almost immediately she 
stopped again. It seemed as if the weight 
she carried prevented her speaking and 
progressing at the same time, and her tone 
was now very weary as she tried to reassure 
the frightened child. 
“ There will be the gas-lamps all the way, 
Bessie,” she said, soothingly. “ Besides, who 
would hurt a poor woman whose only treasure 
in the world is her little daughter ? Put 
your arms tighter round mv neck, my darling, 
and lift yourself a little, then we’ll go on 
bravely, but we mustn’t talk, because that 
hinders mother. Come, that’s right. Why, 
you’re no weight at all now.” 
With an almost tender light in his eyes, 
Denham heard her pursue her way, and then 
again the church clock struck. 
“ Half-past five ! ” he cried. “ Great Scot ! 
I’ve no time to lose.” 
Flinging down the piece of heavy wood, 
lie turned quickly in the direction of the 
opening on to the road, but before he had 
taken two steps a ghastly change came over 
his excited, hopeful countenance. 
“ Oh, my God ! ” he groaned, and then, 
for the moment utterly overwhelmed, he 
reeled up,against the lamp-post under which 
he stood. 
The silence was unbroken save for the 
faint sound of the woman’s slow, retreating 
footsteps, but in his ears there seemed to 
ring that ominous hissing snarl, and before 
his agonized mind there rose the hideous 
spectacle of the maddened, hunted beast with 
the lurid eyes and the distended, ravening 
mouth. On the top of the hill it crouched, 
waiting for its prey, and over the top of the 
hill lay the path of the exhausted mother and 
the crippled child. 
For only a moment Francis Denham 
hesitated, but in that cruel, desolating 
moment he saw the overthrow of all his 
cherished plans. The train must go without 
him, and before the next one, three hours 
later, what might not happen to a man 
with possibly the police already on his 
track ? 
With a choking sob lie clenched his hands, 
and tears of pity for himself welled up into 
his eyes : then, stooping, lie snatched up the 
piece of wood and, bracing himself, rushed 
up the path in pursuit of the woman, whose 
footsteps he could still hear faintly. 
He dared not call out to stop her, for by 
chance the half-stunned beast might be sleep- 
ing, and in that case might not hear the 
soft, slow footfall, but when he was within 
fifty yards of the summit a hideous outcry 
froze the blood in his veins. 
A woman’s shrill shriek of despair mingled 
with the growling, horrible snarl. 
