an on a horse had halted in the centre of the road.
"Drive on!" called Swithin, with a stolid face. It turned out to be
Boleskey, who, on a gaunt white horse, looked like some winged creature.
He stood where he could bar the progress of the carriage, holding out a
pistol.

'Theatrical beggar!' thought Swithin, with a nervous smile. He made no
sign of recognition. Slowly Boleskey brought his lean horse up to the
carriage. When he saw who was within he showed astonishment and joy.

"You?" he cried, slapping his hand on his attenuated thigh, and leaning
over till his beard touched Swithin. "You have come? You followed us?"

"It seems so," Swithin grunted out.

"You throw in your lot with us. Is it possible? You--you are a
knight-errant then!"

"Good God!" said Swithin. Boleskey, flogging his dejected steed,
cantered forward in the moonlight. He came back, bringing an old cloak,
which he insisted on wrapping round Swithin's shoulders. He handed him,
too, a capacious flask.

"How cold you look!" he said. "Wonderful! Wonderful! you English!" His
grateful eyes never left Swithin for a moment. They had come up to the
heels of the other carriage now, but Swithin, hunched in the cloak, did
not try to see what was in front of him. To the bottom of his soul he
resented the Hungarian's gratitude. He remarked at last, with wasted
irony:

"You're in a hurry, it seems!"

"If we had wings," Boleskey answered, "we would use them."

"Wings!" muttered Swithin thickly; "legs are good enough for me."

X

Arrived at the inn where they were to pass the night, Swithin waited,
hoping to get into the house without a "scene," but when at last he
alighted the girls were in the doorway, and Margit greeted him with an
admiring murmur, in which, however, he seemed to detect irony. Rozsi,
pale and tremulous, with a half-scared look, gave him her hand, and,
quickly withdrawing it, shrank behind her sister. When they had gone up
to their room Swithin sought Boleskey. His spirits had risen remarkably.
"Tell the landlord to get us supper," he said; "we'll crack a bottle to
our luck." He hurried on the landlord's preparations. The window of
the, room faced a wood, so near that he could almost touch the trees. The
scent from the pines blew in on him. He turned away from that scented
darkness, and began to draw the corks of winebottles. The sound seemed
to conjure up Boleskey. He came in, splashed all over, smelling sl