pitch as, peering back into the silence of the gloom, he
strove to catch the faintest sound which should tell of pursuit.

"Up, old horse! Nearly home now!"

The dreaded hill was reached. Minutes seemed hours to the rider, till
at length its crest was gained. Then far below in front there twinkled
forth a light, and then another. The sight sent a surging rush of
relief through Renshaw's heart.

"Thanks be to God and all the blessed and glorious company of heaven,"
he murmured reverently, raising his hat.

For he knew that those lighted windows would not have shone so
peacefully had any red horrific tragedy been there enacted.

He was yet in time.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

THE MIDNIGHT FOE.

"Why, it's Renshaw!" cried Mrs Selwood, who, hearing the sound of hoofs
mingling with the barking of the dogs, had come to the door. "We didn't
expect you till to-morrow. Well, you're just in time. A few minutes
more and we should all have gone to bed. Call Windvogel to take your
horse, and come in."

"I'll let him run; he's about done up," he answered, removing saddle,
bridle, and headstall, and turning the animal adrift.

"Has your business fallen through?" she asked, as he followed her into
the passage and closed the door.

"It has had to stand over. Come in here, Hilda"--leading the way into
an empty room. "I have something to tell you. No--never mind the
light. The fewer lights shown the better."

Then in as few words as possible he told her of the danger which hovered
over them.

Hilda Selwood came of a good old colonial stock, and was not lacking in
nerve. Still she would not have been a woman had she realised the
frightful peril which threatened herself and her children without a
shudder.

"We must do what we can, Renshaw," she said. "Perhaps they will not
attack us."

"`Perhaps' is a sorry word to start campaigning upon. What we've got to
do is to ensure them as warm a reception as possible if they do. My
opinion is that they will, if only that they seem to have been watching
the road. I believe they have ascertained by some means or other that
Chris is away. What people have you on the place just now?"

"Very few. There's Windvogel and old Jacob and Gomfana. That's all."

"Windvogel I don't trust. Shouldn't wonder, indeed, if the yellow
scoundrel was in league with them. Old Jacob has more than one foot in
the grave--he's no good. But Gomfana, though he couldn't hit a haystack
wit