to the
black woods on either side, so as to let the pursuit pass. Hearing
nothing, I dismounted again, and strode on rather more cheerfully.

The roan was not more glad than his rider, when we groped our way up the
lane, leading through fields to Symonds' homestead. The good wife came
out quickly, in answer to my hail, her husband being absent, as usual.

"Oh, Major," she said, "I can't say how glad I am to see you. Shipley's
so anxious about you: he hasn't been gone half an hour."

"And the brown horse?" I broke in.

"He's in the stable; and looking right well."

With a huge sigh of relief I flung myself out of the saddle.

"That'll do," I said, "Mrs. Symonds; I don't want to hear another word,
unless it relates to--ham and eggs."

Truly, I fear that the neat-handed Phillis must have been aweary that
night before she had satisfied Gargantua. A messenger soon summoned
Shipley, and he was with me before midnight; he explained all his
movements satisfactorily, and I could not but acknowledge he had acted
throughout discreetly and well. We sat far into the morning, discussing
future plans. Ultimately it was settled that he should start with the
roan, so soon as the animal should be rested and fit for the road,
traveling by moderate stages, to some resting-place near Oakland. The
rendezvous was to be determined by information he would receive in those
parts; and I was to be advised of it by a letter left for me in
Cumberland. Shipley reckoned that it would take him ten days at least to
make his point. This interval I was to spend in Baltimore; from which I
was to proceed, with my horse, to Cumberland, in the cars. This plan had
the double advantage of saving Falcon over two hundred miles of march,
and of enabling my guide to make his way, more securely, as a solitary
traveler. He could not trust himself on the railroad, nor would it have
been safe to attempt the transport of two horses.

So, on the following day, I made--anything but a triumphant--entry into
Baltimore. Kindly greetings and condolences could not enable me during
that last visit to shake off a restless discontent--a gloomy distrust of
the future--a vague sense of shameful defeat.

CHAPTER VII.

FALLEN ACROSS THE THRESHOLD.

Early on Monday, the 30th of April, I addressed myself to the journey
once more, taking the cars to Cumberland, whither Falcon had preceded me
by two days, and this time I bound myself by a vow--not lightly to be
broke