my passengers. Go on, unharmed,
if you will. But at Hospice I shall proclaim you. Every moment that you
falter spins the rope for your gallows!"

Plade did not dally, but took to flight at once. He climbed by the
angles of the terraces, and saw the diligence far below tugging up the
circuitous road. He ran at full speed; no human being was abroad
besides, but yet there were other footfalls in the snow, other sounds,
as of a man breathing hard and pursued upon the lonely mountain. The
fugitive turned--once, twice, thrice; he laughed aloud, and shook his
clenched hand at the sky. Still the flat, dead tramp followed close
behind, and the pace seemed not unfamiliar. It could not be--his blood
ceased to circulate, and stood freezing at the thought--was it the
march, the tread of Hugenot?

He dropped a loud curse, like a howl, and kept upon his way. The
footfalls were as swift; he saw their impressions at his heels--prints
of a small, lithe, human foot, made by no living man. He shut his eyes
and his ears, but the consciousness remained, the inexplicable
phenomenon of some invisible but familiar thing which would not leave
him; which made its register as it passed; which no speed could
outstrip, no argument exorcise.

Was it a sick fancy, a probed heart, or did the phantom of the dead man
indeed give chase?

Ah! there is but one class of folks whose faith in spirits nothing can
shake--the guilty, the bloody-handed.

He came to a perturbed rest at the huge, half-hospitable Hospice, to the
enthusiasm of the postilions.

"Will the gentleman have a saddle-horse?"

"A chariot?"

"A cabriolet?"

"Ten francs to Andermatt!"

"Thirty francs to Fluelen!"

"One hundred francs," cried Plade, "for the fleetest pony to Andermatt.
Ten francs to the postilion who can saddle him in two minutes. My mother
is dying in Lyons."

He climbed one of the dark flights of stairs, and an old, uncleanly monk
gave him a glass of Kerschwasser. He descended to the stables, and
cursed the Swiss lackeys into speed. He gave such liberal largess that
there was an involuntary cheer, and as he galloped away the great
diligence appeared in sight to rouse his haste to frenzy.

The telegraph kept above him--a single line; he knew the tardiness of
foot when pursued by the lightning. In one place, the conductor,
wrenched from the insulators, dropped almost to the ground. There was a
strap upon his saddle; he reined his nag to the side of the road, an