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"Has he a taste for fiction?" I asked, with a depreciative smirk.

As the rider wheeled away I blurted out with anxious loudness in the general hubbub, "Isn't his brother with him?"

"No."

"Why, I can read my safety in your face. You can't read anything in mine; you're afraid to look."

Silence was silver this time, speed was golden. But every step met its obstacle; there were low boughs, festoons of long-moss, bushes, briers, brake-cane, mossy logs, snaky pools, and things half fallen and held dead. If at any point on the bridle-path, near the stream, some cowpath, footpath, any trail whatever, led across to the road, my liers-in-wait were certainly guarding it and would rush to the road by that way as soon as they found I was flanking them. And so I strove on at the best speed I could make, and burst into the road with a crackle and crash that might have been heard a hundred yards away. One glance up the embowered alley, one glance down it, and I whirled to the right, drove in the spur, and flew for the bridge. A wild minute so--a turn in the road--no one in sight! Two minutes--another turn--no one yet! Three--three--another turn--no one in front, no one behind--

"Why, the other one--the son. Lieutenant, is she that monster's wife?"

"Since the hour of her marriage she has never gone into her chamber without locking the door; she has never come out of it unarmed."

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