r for wearing it. I will tell them so with my own lips; for
as I hope for mercy when I die, I will take no quarter from them, nor
shall they have quarter from me, if we come hand to hand to-night.
Up here--behind me--quick! Clasp me tight round the body, and fear
nothing.'

In an instant they were riding away, at full gallop, in a dense cloud of
dust, and speeding on, like hunters in a dream.

It was well the good horse knew the road he traversed, for never
once--no, never once in all the journey--did Mr Haredale cast his eyes
upon the ground, or turn them, for an instant, from the light towards
which they sped so madly. Once he said in a low voice, 'It is my house,'
but that was the only time he spoke. When they came to dark and doubtful
places, he never forgot to put his hand upon the little man to hold him
more securely in his seat, but he kept his head erect and his eyes fixed
on the fire, then, and always.

The road was dangerous enough, for they went the nearest
way--headlong--far from the highway--by lonely lanes and paths, where
waggon-wheels had worn deep ruts; where hedge and ditch hemmed in
the narrow strip of ground; and tall trees, arching overhead, made it
profoundly dark. But on, on, on, with neither stop nor stumble, till
they reached the Maypole door, and could plainly see that the fire began
to fade, as if for want of fuel.

'Down--for one moment--for but one moment,' said Mr Haredale, helping
Daisy to the ground, and following himself. 'Willet--Willet--where are
my niece and servants--Willet!'

Crying to him distractedly, he rushed into the bar.--The landlord bound
and fastened to his chair; the place dismantled, stripped, and pulled
about his ears;--nobody could have taken shelter here.

He was a strong man, accustomed to restrain himself, and suppress his
strong emotions; but this preparation for what was to follow--though he
had seen that fire burning, and knew that his house must be razed to the
ground--was more than he could bear. He covered his face with his hands
for a moment, and turned away his head.

'Johnny, Johnny,' said Solomon--and the simple-hearted fellow cried
outright, and wrung his hands--'Oh dear old Johnny, here's a change!
That the Maypole bar should come to this, and we should live to see
it! The old Warren too, Johnny--Mr Haredale--oh, Johnny, what a piteous
sight this is!'

Pointing to Mr Haredale as he said these words, little Solomon Daisy put
his elbows on the bac