red to hid any object
approaching by the road until within fifty yards or so of the front
door.

"They seem in a hurry, whoever they be," said March, as he and his
mother rose and hastened to the door, "an' there's more than one rider,
if I've not forgot how to judge by sounds. I should say that there's--
Hallo!"

The exclamation was not unnatural by any means, for at that moment a
very remarkable horseman dashed round the point of the wood and galloped
towards the cottage. Both man and horse were gigantic. The former wore
no cap, and his voluminous brown locks floated wildly behind him. On
they came with a heavy, thunderous tread, stones, sticks, and dust
flying from the charger's heels. There was a rude paling in front of
the cottage. The noble horse put its ears forward as it came up, took
two or three short strides, and went over with the light bound of a
deer, showing that the strength of bone, muscle, and sinew was in
proportion to the colossal size of the animal. The gravel inside the
paling flew like splashing water as they alighted with a crash, and
widow Marston, uttering a faint cry, shrank within the doorway as the
wild horseman seemed about to launch himself, with Quixotic
recklessness, against the cottage.

"_Dick_!" shouted March, who stared like one thunderstruck as the rider
leaped from the saddle to the ground, sprang with a single bound to the
widow's side, seized her right hand in both of his, and, stooping down,
gazed intently into her alarmed countenance. Suddenly the blood rushed
violently to her temples, as the man pronounced her name in a low, deep
tone, and with a look of wild surprise mingled with terror, she
exclaimed,--"Louis!"

The colour fled from her cheeks, and uttering a piercing cry, she fell
forward on the breast of her long-lost lover.

March Marston stood for some time helpless; but he found his voice just
as Redhand and the other trappers, rushing through the house, burst upon
the scene--"_Dick_!" shouted March again, in the highest pitch of
amazement.

"The Wild Man o' the West!" roared Bounce, with the expression of one
who believes he gazes on a ghost.

"Fetch a drop o' water, one o' you fellers," said the Wild Man, looking
anxiously at the pale-face that rested on his arm.

Every one darted off to obey, excepting Bertram, who, with eyes almost
starting out of their sockets, was already seated on the paling,
sketching the scene; for he entertained an irresisti